


Hotel Heart

by Laughsalot3412



Series: Psychic AU [1]
Category: Leverage
Genre: AU, Ace Parker, Cuddling, Eliot doesn't want to love them, Is "emotional OT3" a thing?, Mind Rape, Psychic Abilities, everyone is a hot mess, he loves them a lot, let's be real
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-29 06:49:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 45,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6363724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laughsalot3412/pseuds/Laughsalot3412
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had a sniper rifle scoping the girl’s bright eyes and the guy’s smile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [V_vulpes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/V_vulpes/gifts).



> This is for v_vulpes, who threw sad headcanons at me until this thing emerged. THANKS FOR ALL THE BETA READING DARLING!
> 
> (Because it's an AU, think season 4 Parker and Hardison meeting pre-series Eliot. Because everyone needs that in their Leverage lives, I figure.)

Eliot Spencer hated psychics because of their carelessness.

His targets (one white female, one black male, neither older than twenty-six) had stolen some data from the Bureau of Psychic Affairs in Portland. Victor Dubenich, the director, had reached out to Eliot with the job.

 _Containment and cleanup_. That had been the order. Dubenich hadn’t needed to spell out the details: cleanup would be needed because Eliot was expected to make a mess first. He didn’t like jobs like this, but the Bureau had never reached out to him before, and staying on their good side was important in his line of work.

Dubenich was not a good man—he’d hired Eliot, after all. The targets had to know it. Eliot had been expecting to spend a few days hunting them down, ferreting them out of their hole.

But three hours after Dubenich gave him their files, Eliot had tracked them to a Starbucks outside Portland. They hadn’t even left the _city_.  They were sitting at an outside table right in the middle of the goddam sidewalk.

So maybe Eliot Spencer hated psychics for a lot of reasons, but right now, it was the _carelessness_ that was pissing him off. He was on the roof of an office building across the street, and he had a sniper rifle scoping the girl’s bright eyes and the guy’s smile.

Eliot had professional pride, okay? He didn’t usually take hits, but when he did, they were the impossible cases. The jobs no one else could do.

He didn’t massacre naive morons.

(Not anymore.)

Dubenich wasn’t just a bastard—he was smart. He wouldn’t have been paying Eliot’s fee if these targets hadn’t required it.

Eliot needed a closer look.

 

 

 

“All I’m saying is, how do they _know_ it’s the largest ball of twine in the world? I mean, the world is a pretty big place, Hardison. What did they do, go around to every house and ask to see their balls of twine?”

“Some things you just got to take on faith, girl.”

“No I don’t. In fact, that’s pretty much the opposite of what I do.”

Eliot barely bit back a groan. It had been like this ever since he’d gotten close enough to hear their conversation. He was lying flat in the backseat of a car parked close to the Starbucks. The targets’ voices drifted through the open windows.

“Tell you what, Parker. I will personally look up any and all challengers to the title, and then we can visit each one on our way out of town.”

“Really?” Parker sounded excited. “Can we visit that mountain that’s made of rock candy?”

“You do know that’s not a real thing.”

“…yes. Duh. Obviously not a real thing.”

“I can feel it when you lie.” Alec Hardison’s voice was teasing, but cold trickled through Eliot at his words.

The files said Alec Hardison was an empath.

He’d heard rumors of Parker: an amazing thief who mainly used her telekinesis to jump off buildings. But he hadn’t known about the empath. If he had, Eliot wouldn’t have taken this job.

“Cheater.”

“Ow! Look, we can go to that candy place that’s your favorite, ok?”

“Okay.”

Eliot’s skin was itching. He was too close to the empath. He should have taken the shot before, out of reach of his warm voice.

(Moreau’s voice had been like wine and dark chocolate. Bitter on the tongue, but addictive once it went down.)

“Hardison?” Parker’s voice had grown concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” the empath said, the voice of someone in pain but trying to make light of it. “Someone around here has got some serious baggage, that’s all.”

“We’re leaving,” Parker said immediately. “C’mon.”

Him. The empath was feeling him. Eliot took a deep breath and tried to think of happier things.

“ _Damn_ ,” the empath said, strained. “Do you see them? I could help.”

“No,” Parker said. “We’re going to the candy store. Everyone’s happy in that place.”

“Yeah?”

“I told you, it’s my favorite.”

Eliot waited until their voices faded before he slipped out of the car, heart pounding. He was better than this. He used to be—

It didn’t matter. He still had a job to do. He had to retrieve the drive that held the bureau’s data.

Parker’s file indicated that she didn’t do her own jobs: she worked on commission. They would have to give the information to their employer at some point, and Eliot would intercept it when they did.

And then he would finish the job.

 

 

The candy shop ended up being an actual candy shop—not the rendezvous Eliot had been hoping for. So he spent an hour lurking outside while the targets did whatever you could do in a candy shop for an _hour_.

The day did not improve.

There was a stop at a tech shop, which had seemed promising until he realized the empath was only there to fawn over the computers. Eliot was pretty good at reading lips, but he didn’t catch most of the techno-babble the guy exchanged with the shop owner.

Parker amused herself by picking the locks on the glass display cases and snatching increasingly larger and larger items, which she stashed around the store while the owner’s back was turned. In ninety minutes, she relocated seven iPhones, four tablets, six laptops, and five printers. And then she moved them all back.

She didn’t use her powers at all—she was simply that good. Eliot found himself smirking as he watched her. Parker had a wild kind of joy that ignited her gestures and expressions. She was mesmerizing in her grace, exhilarating in her skill. Everything the rumors had said.

Only, she kept touching the empath: resting her arm on his shoulders, shoving him lightly when she brushed past, tapping his back to get his attention. Eliot wanted to drag her away and shout at her to be more careful, which he knew was the height of irony, but what-the-hell-ever. Empaths’ powers started working the second they had eyes on their victim and grew increasingly stronger the closer they got. Touching an empath was basically begging for them to shove whatever feelings they wanted directly into your heart.

(Moreau had kept Eliot very, very close.)

Parker either didn’t know or didn’t care. When she and the empath finally left the store, she pushed close to him while they walked down the sidewalk.

Eliot followed at a safe distance, not close enough to hear exactly what was being said, but enough to get the gist. The empath was excited about something he’d bought—Eliot had no idea if it related to the Bureau data or not. Computers were really not his thing.

The empath waved his arms around enthusiastically, talking a mile a minute. Parker laughed at him.

They were staying in an apartment building with conveniently sloped roofs. It was easy for Eliot to climb up and position himself in a shadowy corner where he could see and hear, but not close enough for the empath to get a read on him.

Good god, the empath was eating canned ravioli. _Directly out of the can._

Eliot let his head thump back against the brick wall. How had these people survived long enough for Eliot to kill them?

 

 

They settled eventually; the empath at the kitchen table hunched over his laptop, Parker perched on the table munching a bowl full of dry coco puffs.

“Alien invasion,” Parker said.

The empath kept typing. “Are you kidding? I’d live forever. Age of the geek, but like, times a billion. You would be toast.”

“I would not.”

“You can’t even get Gmail to hook up with your phone! I, on the other hand, could hack their alien systems and save the world.”

“What if they have laser eyes? How would you survive in a world full of laser eyes, Hardison?”

“Eh, you’d take care of the lasers.”

Parker flicked a piece of cereal directly between his eyes. “I thought I was toast.”

“Not if you’re with me.”

Parker looked pleased. “So we’d both live forever.”

“You know it.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “Damn. This is some heavy-duty encryption the Bureau’s got on these files.”

“Makes sense,” Parker said darkly, “considering what it is.” She used her spoon to crush her cereal against the bottom of the bowl.

Eliot had been listening to them for hours as the empath tried to decode the Bureau’s data. He didn’t know why he was doing it. He had a clear line of sight. Even telekinetics weren’t fast enough to stop a bullet they didn’t know was coming. If he took Parker out first, the empath would be an easy shot.

His rifle was in his hand. It had been in his hand for a long time.

“Babe,” the empath said. “I don’t know if I can crack this.”

“You have to,” Parker said.

“But—“

“Those kids aren’t going through what I went through,” Parker said, too loudly.

What the hell? What kids?

“I know, but I—“

“Make it happen, Hardison!” Parker jabbed her spoon in his face.

“Okay,” he said, a lot gentler than Eliot would have been with _Parker’s_ spoon near his eyeball. The empath went back to his typing. “So. Giant earthquake?”

Parker relaxed a little. She snorted and went back to eating her cereal. “I’d live forever. You’d last eight days.”

Eliot tuned out a rant about the importance of internet connection. Dubenich hadn’t mentioned anything about kids, but it seemed Dubenich hadn’t told Eliot a lot about this job.

His thoughts were distracted by a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. Eliot immediately snapped to attention, all senses alert.

It had come from the roof of the apartment building across the street. Eliot swung his rifle up to his shoulder and used the night-vision scope to scan the roofline. The figure was dressed in black, bent over and assembling something that might have been a telescope but probably wasn’t. He hadn’t seen Eliot.

Someone else had put a hit out on his targets. Had to be. With a package this hot, Eliot wasn’t surprised. It was a small complication, nothing he couldn’t handle.

But then the figure stood up. He turned around.

The figure stood up and turned around, and even with the night vision, Eliot recognized him. There was no mistaking the sharp, hard lines of that face.

Eliot’s body recognized him as well—his stomach flipped over.

Distantly, he heard the empath say, “What the hell?”

It was Chapman. Moreau’s lieutenant and favorite telepath. All of the sudden, it was ten months ago, and Eliot was back on the tile floor of some godforsaken Italian villa and he was screaming.

(Chapman had smooth, slim fingers that Eliot could have broken without trying. But Chapman didn’t need to be strong when he could bring men to their knees with just a twist of his thoughts.)

Chapman had a rifle to his shoulder as well, but it wasn’t a sniper rifle. It was a tranquilizer gun, and it was aimed directly at the open widow of Parker and Hardison’s apartment.

Eliot was under no illusions about the kind of man he was. He’d crossed almost every line there was to cross. But this?

Traq guns meant that Moreau wanted the targets alive. He might want the data too, but he definitely wanted _them_ —these idiots who spent hours in a candy shop and were yammering on about helping kids.

Moreau always got what he wanted. He had wanted Eliot, and so Eliot had become his.

(His—his—)

Eliot had crossed a lot of lines. He wasn’t going to cross this one.

Chapman jerked his head sharply up in Eliot’s direction, and Eliot knew the telepath had caught the scent of his mind from a distance. The man swung the rifle around and sharp pain sliced through Eliot’s arm. Eliot fired, but even as Chapman tumbled backwards he knew it hadn’t been a kill shot.

Inside his head, Eliot could still see himself on that tile floor.

There was indistinct shouting blurring in the air around him, and his muscles were loosening without his permission. The tranquilizers. Eliot stumbled forward, trying to make it off the roof, but his knees buckled. His eyes were drifting shut as strong hands yanked up upright, but he was too far gone to see who it was.

 

* * * *

 

“We should throw him out the window.”

“No!” Hardison said. Again.

“I could use my powers. You wouldn’t have get up.”

“You can’t use them like that.”

“Let’s try.”

Hardison was giving her that look that made it very clear how patient he was being. “Parker. The man probably saved our lives—“

“You don’t know that!”

“—and he’s passed out on our couch. He’s practically a guest. You don’t go throwing guests out the window.”

Hardison was right about one thing, the stupid man was certainly unconscious. He was also sprawled on the sofa where Hardison and Parker had thrown him, so actually Hardison was right about two things.

Parker didn’t like the guy. Even asleep, his body looked dangerous, built out of violence. She’d grown up around guys like him patrolling the Bureau holding centers, wearing uniforms and carrying weapons they’d enjoyed using. Guys like him hurt people because they couldn’t _not_. They hurt people the way Hardison liked people—easily, quickly.

“I don’t want him here,” Parker said. She couldn’t stop moving, pacing circles around the apartment, bouncing on her toes, clenching her hands.

Hardison had pulled a chair close to the couch and was draped over it backwards. He frowned at her. Hardison was on a mission to make her “feel more compassion for the experiences of others.” Well, Parker had a mission of her own, and it was Keep Hardison Alive.

“We should go,” Parker said. “Grab the file and run. We don’t know who else is out there.”

Hardison did not look impressed. “We can’t leave him here. What is someone comes while he’s still out?”

“Exactly my point! I can’t stop bullets, Hardison!”

Parker had tears in her eyes. She didn’t know why, because she didn’t feel sad. Parker didn’t usually feel much of anything, which was one of the reasons she and Hardison got along so well. He said she was restful.

Parker didn’t feel restful now, she felt like a hurricane.

Hardison had his hands up in a calming gesture. “Woah, woah. Take it easy. You don’t have to be scared.”

Parker sniffed and balled up her fists. She stared at Hardison from the other side of the room. “Is that what this is?”

Hardison gave a wincing smile. “You feel like you did that time in Georgia. You’re really freaking out, huh?”

“Guys like him are everything we’re trying not to be. Also, gunfire makes me twitchy.”

Hardison looked at her with warm, dark eyes that always understood her. Until Hardison, Parker hadn’t ever met someone who actually listened to her. He always listened, and more amazingly, still liked her after she was done talking.

“Want me to get rid of some of it?” he offered. He looked upset, but Parker knew Hardison’s face well enough to understand that he was upset for her, not because of her.

“Yes,” Parker said, all in a rush. She couldn’t think when she had a hurricane inside.

She bounded over to Hardison and slapped a hand on his arm. It was easier for him when they touched.

Hardison closed his eyes and breathed out in a long, slow stream.

There was a door inside Parker that she always kept shut. She’d double-locked it after the Bureau had taken her to the second holding center, and after that, she’d never opened it for anyone.

But then she’d met Hardison, who had laughed at her jokes and stolen stuff and jumped off buildings with her. He’d never asked her to open the door, which was why she’d started doing it. Only sometimes, and only a little, but Hardison was safe. Parker could trust him with the stuff inside her head.

Now, she took breath of her own and tried to make herself open up. As soon as she did, the hurricane calmed to a soft drizzle.

“Want me to give you some calm?” Hardison murmured, eyes still closed.

“You know that doesn’t work on me,” Parker said, trying to make her voice go quiet like his. Hardison was sometimes quiet in a soft way that Parker couldn’t quite mimic.

A smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “Someday I’ll get it.”

“Not now,” Parker said. “Now, we need handcuffs.”

 

 

Parker used her favorite pair, the ones from Brazil that had taken her a full five minutes to pick. After some forceful persuasion, Hardison had thrown her a roll of duct tape, which she’d used to tape the guy’s ankles together. She also took his boots.

Not a moment too soon, either. She’d just finished throwing the boots across the room when the guy blinked awake.

Parker turned on her taser and let herself be comforted by its gentle electric buzz.

“No tasing people in the living room! It makes the whole place smell like burnt hair, and you know I have a sensitive sense of—holy hell _what is that?”_

Parker spun around at the horror in Hardison’s voice, but there wasn’t anything strange in the apartment. There was just the guy, now definitely awake, staring at them.

Hardison was backing away from the couch, hands flapping in distress. “Seriously,” he said. “What. The. Hell.”

“Hardison, what’s wrong? Can I tase him now?”

The guy was lying still. Like, freakishly still. Parker wasn’t sure if he was breathing.

Well, she didn’t have time to check on that and Hardison, so hopefully he was.

Parker crowded close to Hardison where he stood against the far wall, sideways so she could keep the guy in sight. “Hey,” she said. “Is he too loud in your head?”

Hardison was staring at the guy, his eyes wide and focused on something only he could see. The guy bared his teeth in a soundless snarl.

Parker snarled back.

“It’s not—it’s not loud,” Hardison said, stumbling over his words. “It’s like—He’s just all—Who did this to you?” This was addressed to the guy.

He just glared at them. Parker remember holding that still when the holding centers had inspection days. The only thing that gave that kind of stillness was the fear that oozed out from behind your locked door.

Hardison’s face was hurt. His eyes were wet and his mouth was all crumpled.

Parker didn’t know what to do about that, so she patted his shoulder.

“I can help,” Hardison said. “I mean, I’ll do my best. I’m not the best empath in the world or anything, and I’ve never seen anything like this before, because this is some nasty stuff, but I can—“

“There are twenty-seven bones in the human hand.” The guy’s voice was like bare knees skidding on gravel. “You try to get inside my head? I will break every single one of yours. And I won’t do it fast.”

Hardison blinked. “Okay, that was…overly hostile. And disturbingly specific. In fact, I’m beginning to think that everything about you is disturbing.”

“I wanted to throw him out the window,” Parker reminded.

“You know what? You did. And I am starting to see your point.”

Hardison was rambling. His eyes were still wide and he wasn’t moving from his place by the wall.

Time to get things back on track.

Parker advanced, Taser held threatening high. The guy focused on her. Even lying on his side, he looked distinctly unthreatened, which was disappointing.

“What were you doing on our roof?” she demanded.

“Saving your lives, apparently.”

“Told you,” Hardison said, subdued but still triumphant.

“Who sent you?”

The guy ignored the question. “You two have somehow managed to piss off a very bad man. The guy I shot worked for Damien Moreau.”

That brought Parker up short. “As in, Most Powerful Empath in the Northern Hemisphere Moreau?”

“As in, Into Tons of Hinky Stuff And I-Do-Not-Want-To-Know-Details Moreau?” Hardison asked.

“So you know him.”

“He must want the file,” Hardison said. He looked a little ill. “I mean, I expected it to be hot, but this…”

“We have to get out of the country,” Parker said. She had go bags made up for both of them. “We can be on a plane in an hour.”

“You won’t last a week,” the guy said. He said it like the words were heavy.

“Says you!” Hardison said, voice rising in panic. “And what do you know about it anyway? The shape you’re in, I’m amazed you can even order a latte without breaking into tiny man-pieces. Who the hell even _are_ you?”

The man on their couch shrugged. It was the first time since he’d woken that Parker actually saw him move. “I’m the guy who lives forever in this particular worst-case scenario.”

That game belonged to her and Hardison—how did he _know?_

Hardison didn’t look surprised. “You’ve been following us since this afternoon at Starbucks, haven’t you? I knew something felt off all day. Man, I mean it, I will help—“

“Twenty-seven bones,” the guy reminded.

“Okay, okay.”

“So you’re the guy who lives forever,” Parker said loudly. “And I’m going to guess that you weren’t hanging around our roof with a sniper rifle meaning to help us.”

“No,” the guy said. “But I did.”

“Why?”

He shifted, an embarrassed movement that made him suddenly seem more human. “I’ve got a score to settle with Moreau.”

“Uh huh,” Hardison said, unconvinced.

The guy growled at him. “You better not be reading me, empath.”

“Believe me when I say that I am trying not to.”

“Look,” the guy said. “I don’t like psychics and I don’t trust thieves. But you’ve got something Moreau wants badly enough to send his right-hand man after. Which means, whatever that is, I want it kept away from him.”

Parker crossed her arms. “I’m pretty sure you came here to shoot us.”

The guy’s smile was whisper-faint. “Yeah, well I didn’t. And I won’t.”

Hardison nodded his head. He caught her eye and nodded again.

“Really?” Parker demanded. “ _Really?”_

“My name is Alec Hardison. This is Parker.”

The guy on the couch said, “I’m Eliot Spencer.”

 

 

Eliot Spencer looked steady on his feet for someone who’d been drugged for the better part of an hour. From her favorite corner, Parker watched him pace around the living room to check the sightlines out the windows. Hardison was on the couch, his legs crossed under him, staring at the floor.

“We’ve got to move,” Spencer said. “This place is burned.”

“Safety is all relative anyway,” Hardison said wildly. “I mean, you’re more likely to die in your bathroom than in a war zone.”

Parker frowned. “I don’t think that’s true.”

“It’s not.” Eliot Spencer slammed the window shut.

“Man, I get claustrophobic!”

“Gosh, _man_ , I didn’t realize. I’ll just open it back up again, let the tranquilizer darts fly right through. You can say hi to Moreau for me.”

“Damn sarcastic,” Hardison muttered to the floorboards. “Unnecessary—“

“What’s on the drive?” Spencer drew the curtains across the window and faced Parker, arms crossed. He kept directing the conversation to her. In fact, he had his whole body angled away from Hardison, toward Parker. People never did that. It was weird.

“Stuff,” Parker said.

“Stuff.”

“Secret stuff.”

“We don’t have time for this! Moreau’s guys will be back.”

Parker glanced at Hardison, who gave her a pleading look.

“If we trust you, you could take it back to Dubenich.”

“Dubenich _what_ now?”

Parker liked Hardison, but sometimes he didn’t see what right in front of him.

“Dubenich hired Spencer,” Parker told him. “I got bored waiting for him to tell me and figured it out.”

Eliot Spencer’s smile was like a blinking light on an alarm system. One quick flash was all the warning you got that there were live wires ahead.

Hardison was muttering again. “I have got to stop thinking things can’t get worse. I’m sorry, Parker, this is my fault. I literally had that thought five minutes ago.”

“How could that make it your fault?” Parker asked, confused.

“He’s kidding,” Spencer told her.

Parker stared him right in the eye. Normally that made people turn funny colors and back away, but Eliot Spencer caught her gaze and held it. Parker was reminded, bizarrely, of that moment in every jump when her powers caught her mid-air, holding her strong and safe.

Hardison’s powers had told him something that made him think this guy was trustworthy, but Parker’s couldn’t do that. She had to test him another way.

And she had to do it fast.

“Dubenich is a bad person,” Parker said. “You work for him.”

“Tells you something about me, doesn’t it?”

Parker lifted her chin. “I did a job for Dubenich once. Over ten years ago.”

Hardison sat up straighter on the couch. He looked concerned.

“It wasn’t relevant before,” Parker told him, but she kept her eyes locked with Eliot.

“I know.” Spencer said. “Dubenich gave me your file.”

“So, what does that tell you about me?”

“It tells me you were a kid in over your head, trying not to piss off the guy who controlled your life. Smart move,” he added. “Kept you alive.”

That was—

That was exactly how it had been.

“Birth records,” she said. “That’s what on the drive.”

Hardison picked up the narrative, talking to Spencer but looking at the wall. “The Bureau created a computer program that can sort through post-natal medical exams and compare it to known markers of psychic abilities. The program made a list of all the psychic kids in the country born within the last ten years before it suffered a mysterious system failure. Today. When we happened to be breaking in to steal the final copy of the list. Pure coincidence, of course.”

Eliot Spencer’s face was full of some emotion that Hardison would have no problem identifying, but that escaped Parker’s understanding. His eyes weren’t wet, but his mouth was all twisted up.

“Moreau can’t get his hands on a list like that.”

“Obviously,” Parker snapped.

Hardison, carefully still looking at the wall, said, “Do you know what the Bureau does with the psychic kids they collect?”

Parker’s hands clenched in a sudden spasm. Spencer’s eyes tracked the movement.

“I’ve heard rumors.”

“Whatever you heard, it’s worse,” Hardison said. “Trust us, man. Dubenich can’t get this list either.”

Spencer glanced at Hardison out of the corner of his eye. “So destroy it.”

“We will. After we make sure everyone on the list is safe. Visit the families, maybe explain that just because little Johnny can make pencils float doesn’t mean he’s the devil.”

“Why is that your job? Why do you care?” Spencer said it aggressively, just like Parker had when asking him about working for Dubenich. She didn’t know a lot about feelings, but Parker knew a test when she heard one.

“They’re a bunch of kids in over their heads,” Hardison said.

“We want to keep them alive,” Parker added.

Spencer’s eyes were full of something she wanted to understand. She didn’t trust him, but she _wanted_ —something. That was rare enough that she tried to make her words sound like in invitation.

Eliot Spencer looked like he was about to respond when gunshots erupted for the second time that night.

“Get down!” Spencer shouted. He slammed her to the floor, his body heavy and suffocating and terrible on top of her.

“Let go! Hardison? Hardison!”

“ _Parker!_ ”

“Stay still,” Spencer said in her ear. His voice rumbled against her back.

Parker swung her elbow back with all the force she had and caught him right in the throat.

He rolled off her, gagging. There were more gunshots and the sound of breaking glass—the windows were shattering. Parker sprang toward the couch where Hardison had been sitting, and there he was, crouched behind it.

“I’m okay.” He held up the flash drive to answer her second question.

“This way!” Eliot Spencer was in the doorway, poised and deadly with a pistol in his hand. Where did he get a gun? Parker had searched him. _Twice._ “Now!”

Parker clamped her hand on Hardison’s arm and dragged him with her across the room while Spencer covered them. They rushed into the hallway and he followed them, kicking the door shut behind them and disassembling the gun into parts before throwing them away.

“Got an escape route?” he asked tersely.

“I’ve got three,” Parker said. She was holding Hardison’s arm very tightly. She could feel him shaking.

“Then let’s go!”

“Where?” Hardison asked. “Our van’s in the street, we can’t get to it.”

“Dammit, just go!” Eliot said. “I’ll tell you on the way.”

 

 

* * * *

 

When he was a kid, Hardison walked past lots of abandoned houses on his way to school. They used to give him the creeps and he hadn’t known why. It hadn’t been the emptiness of the homes that had unnerved him. It hadn’t even been the dark and general spookiness.

It wasn’t until he was older that Hardison realized his disquiet came from the way the doors had been forced open and left hanging on mangled hinges. It was the gaping holes where secure windowpanes should have been. Houses were supposed to be places of safety, and there was something wrong about seeing them gutted, vulnerable to anyone who wanted to ransack them.

Looking at Eliot Spencer took Hardison right back to standing on his childhood street, staring at those houses and finally understanding the word “ _violated.”_  

So of course, because this was just how Hardison’s life worked, he was currently jammed right up close to Eliot in a dark alley, gasping for breath and bracing his powers against the worst thing he’d ever seen done to a person.

Sometimes, Hardison’s life sucked.

“We lost them.” Parker didn’t even sound winded. She probably wasn’t—the traitor.

“When we crossed Second Street,” Eliot confirmed.

Hardison wasn’t sure how they knew, but that was their thing and he was happy to leave them to it. His head was pounding from Mister Walking Travesty beside him.

 _“Just pull a blanket over your head, sweetheart,”_ Nana had used to say, when his powers got too much. _“Pull it up tight and shut them all out.”_

Hardison took a breath—which was hard to do after running for his life, thank you very much—found that barrier deep inside himself, and pulled.

Relief was sudden and immediate. The gaping holes of Eliot were still there, but they were muffled, easier to ignore.

Hardison let out a shaky breath. “Does that mean we can stop running now? My heart was not built to withstand games of death hide and seek, people.”

The faint orange of a streetlight caught Eliot’s face as he moved back. “We’re here,” he said.

The alley had a dumpster in it and not much else. Hardison could feel the familiar vague tangle of emotions that meant a large group of people were close, but he couldn’t see them.

Eliot reached into his jacket pocket.

Parker tensed behind Hardison’s shoulder. “Hey!”

“Relax!” Eliot pulled his hand out of his jacket slowly, holding a ring of keys. “I have a safe house in Portland, and I brought you to it. You happy now?”

He directed that last part to Hardison, so viciously that Hardison took a step back. “Um. Yes?”

Eliot turned away and stomped down the alley. Streams of emotion trailed after him: the expected blast of anger, puzzling amounts of fear, and a shocking amount of _protectiveness_.

“Makes no damn sense,” Hardison said to no one.

Parker brushed his shoulder as she passed him. Eliot had passed her tests enough that she didn’t think he would shoot them. That was comforting.

Parker herself was comforting—her mind as impenetrable as a locked safe. It was like a cool hand pressed to his throbbing head. Not for the first time, Hardison was fiercely grateful that he’d met her.

Eliot had stopped in front of a rusty metal door further down the alley and was wrestling with the key.

“If this hidey-hole has bugs, I ain’t staying,” Hardison said.

“You’d rather be shot?” Parker asked.

He fell into step behind her. “At least getting shot would be quick. Roaches gnaw on your bones for weeks, Parker. Weeks. There was a woman they found dead in Idaho with little nibbles all taken out of her, like a damn roach buffet.”

“Really?” Parker sounded delighted, like she always did at the prospect of something horrifying. She stopped beside Eliot, still outside of his personal space, but pretty close for Parker and strangers, and frowned at the man. “Really?” she demanded.

Eliot’s key clunked in the lock. “It was Nebraska,” he said.

And before Hardison had time to process what the hell had just happened, Eliot put his shoulder to the door and shoved it open.

Warm light spilled out into the alley, along with the most delicious cooking smells Hardison had inhaled since that Thai place in Chicago. Eliot disappeared through the door and Parker followed, and Hardison no longer cared if there was a roach army waiting for him—this was clearly a door to food heaven.

It was actually a kitchen. A really big, busy, amazing-smelling kitchen.

“Spencer!” an old man in an apron shouted. The pan in his hand was on fire. He didn’t seem to care.

A few other people looked up from their chopping and stirring to echo the shout.

Eliot said, “Hi Toby.”

The old man put his flaming pan back on the stove and dodged around two teenagers carrying trays full of food. “Thought you were going to be gone for a few weeks.”

Eliot huffed an exasperated breath that told Hardison all he needed to know about Eliot’s depth of relationship with this man. “Things took a turn.”

“Things do that,” Toby said. He had a calm way of speaking, even though he was almost shouting over the din of the kitchen. There was serenity humming inside him that was blissful after the night Hardison had just had. He edged closer.

“Who are these two?” Toby asked.

Eliot hesitated. “They’re with me.”

Hardison smiled winsomely. In his experience, smiling at people who had food increased the chances of having food lovingly bestowed upon him. “What is this place?”

“The Vargas Culinary School,” Toby said proudly. “We take in kids and teach them to cook. Give them a second chance.”

Hardison hadn’t known there were places that did that sort of thing. “I love you already.”

Eliot’s mood flipped suddenly, blackness seeping through Hardison’s mental barriers. He pushed himself roughly between Hardison and Toby.

“Excuse—”

“Is my room empty?” Eliot asked, biting off the ends of his words.

Toby was watching the whole scene with amusement. “Since this morning? I’d hope so.”

Eliot turned on his heel and growled into Hardison’s face. “Follow me. Now.”

“What—oh forget it.” Hardison turned an offended look to Parker, but Parker hadn’t been paying attention. She’d managed to steal a magnificent sandwich from somewhere.

Hardison’s look turned beseeching.

“Uh uh.” Parker took a bite and shook her head.

“Parker, c’mon.”

“I’m hungry!”

“Walk,” Eliot said. “Now.”

That tone must have had a channel directly to Hardison’s lower brain, because he was suddenly moving, legs propelling him after Eliot without conscious thought. The man was like a tiger. Or a timber rattler. Or an orca whale, and Hardison was the innocent little baby seal about to be turned into dinner.

That…was not a comforting thought.

 

 

The room was just that—one room, with a bathroom attached. The single window was big enough to jump out of in a hurry. In one corner was a twin bed, neatly made. In another was the tiniest stove and refrigerator Hardison had ever seen. There was a table with two chairs. A few cabinets on the wall. Three lamps. That was it.

“Small,” Parker pronounced, turning around in the room.

“Taj Mahal was booked.” Eliot roamed around the room snapping on lamps. The light was cozy and warm, and honestly, it made this room feel like the safest place Hardison had been all day.

Exhaustion flooded through his body, like it had been waiting for Hardison to relax. He sunk into one of the wooden chairs and groaned. “This has been the most stressful three hours of my life. Next time Damien Moreau tries to kill us, let’s just take a pass on that.”

“This last hit wasn’t Moreau,” Eliot said. “Parker, stop.”

Parker was opening all the cabinets, half-eaten sandwich in one hand. She took a wreath of garlic off her head and put it back in the cabinet. “I thought you said Moreau was trying to kill us.”

“I said you pissed him off,” Eliot countered. “Chapman was using traqs. He wanted you alive. These guys didn’t care.”

“Every time you talk, I feel worse.” Hardison laid his head down on the smooth tabletop.

“Hardison gets grumpy when he’s hungry,” Parker whispered loudly.

“Hardison gets grumpy when people shoot at him,” he corrected.

“We’re thinking that was the Bureau, right?” Parker asked.

“They were using government issue ammo rounds. They have a very distinctive smell,” Eliot said.

“Makes sense,” Hardison muttered against the tabletop. Then he stopped and thought for a second. “Actually, hold up.” He lifted his head and frowned. “The Bureau only hired Eliot this morning. There was no reason for them to think he’d gone off mission.”

Eliot was already shucking off his jacket, examining every inch of his clothes for listening devices. Hardison dug his phone out of his pocket and opened up his sweeper app. “It scans for bugs,” he explained.

Eliot nodded quickly, and Hardison stepped close to scan him. It was easier to block Eliot’s emotions when Hardison had tech to focus on. “Clean.”

“Nothing,” Eliot said.

“Then someone must have told them you’d ditched,” Parker said.

“No one knew!”

“Chapman knew,” Eliot said quietly. He was clutching his jacket in both hands. “Hard to misinterpret a bullet to the shoulder.”

“Moreau and the Bureau are working together?” Parker asked. There was uncertainty in her voice, which in Parker meant she was actually getting afraid.

Dread trickled cold into Hardison’s chest. It was his, but it was also Eliot’s.

Without a word, Eliot walked into the bathroom and slammed the door.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Hardison said.

“This is really bad.” Parker was pacing. Never a good sign. “We’re going to die. Unless Moreau gets to us first—then he’ll probably whammy us into being his mindless slaves for the rest of our lives. And the kids! The kids are going to be rounded up—“

“Not helping.” Hardison could handle his own panic, and he could push away Eliot’s. But when Parker’s started to ooze out of her like this, he couldn’t block her, and he definitely couldn’t calm her.

“Hardison, give me something to do. Anything.”

Hardison tried to slow his mind down enough to think. Parker needed him. “Okay. Okay. Well, I need a new computer to finish decrypting the data. Mine got shot.”

“On it,” Parker said immediately. She unlocked the window and flung it open.

“You’re going now?”

Parker gave him a Look. “Laptops aren’t going to steal themselves.”

It would get him mocked, but Hardison was incapable of letting her dive into a night full of hitmen without saying, “It’s dangerous out there.”

“You’ll be fine,” Parker said, swinging her legs out the window. “Eliot’s here.”

She closed the window behind her and vanished.

Hardison looked around the empty room. “Really?”

He pulled out his phone and spent several heartbreaking minutes searching for a decent wifi signal. “ _Really?_ ”

The bathroom door opened and Eliot strode into the room, as if he hadn’t been hiding for the last ten minutes. Maybe someone else would have thought he was calm.

“Where’s Parker?” Eliot demanded.

Hardison was fiddling with his phone to have an excuse not to look at him. “She got a little freaked, so she went to steal some stuff. It’s her thing. She’ll be back in a couple of hours with who knows what.”

Sparks of burning anger shot Hardison’s way.

“You sent her out there alone?”

Oh joy. Here was his headache, back again right on cue. Hardison just wanted to curl up in a server room with some beautiful, emotionless computers and lose himself in code. He was tired of being blasted by this guy.

Hardison met Eliot’s glare dead on. “You know what? I think it’s time to get something straight.”

Eliot somehow managed to make himself look even more murderous. The man made Hardison’s legs shake, honest to God.

“I don’t send Parker anywhere.” Hardison’s voice might have squeaked a little. It wasn’t a proud moment. He cleared his throat. “She just goes. She wanted to jump out your window and walk around in a city full of people trying to kill us, so that’s what she did. You think I could stop her?”

“Yes,” Eliot said flatly.

Hardison had been planning on a speech _,_ not a conversation.

“Well…I don’t,” he said lamely.

Eliot raised his eyebrows. “Maybe you should of have used those little notecards. Organized your thoughts.”

“Oh, shut up,” Hardison grumbled. “Besides, what the hell, man? Even if I could order people around, I wouldn’t.”

Eliot’s emotions gave a frightening surge.

It was the kind of clarity Hardison sometimes had just as he found the key to an encrypted system. “Oh.”

Someone—some empath—had systematically destroyed the defenses in the emotional parts of Eliot’s mind. Hardison had known that the minute he’d laid eyes on the guy.

He hadn’t actually stopped to consider why an empath would do something like that. It would certainly make someone easier to control. Theoretically, if someone’s mind was defenseless, empaths could make him feel whatever they wanted, like hacking a firewall and taking over someone’s system. Hardison had done a lot of hacking, but he could honestly say that this kind had never occurred to him. It was so wrong, he didn’t even have words.

He remembered Eliot in the alley: _“You happy now?”_

“You think I whammied you into liking us. So you’d protect us.”

“I’ve never brought anyone to this place before,” Eliot said, in that same flat voice. “I don’t even know you two, and I brought you here because I felt—” Eliot shook his head, cutting himself off.

“Why does your brain jump to the most terrible conclusion possible? Is that, like, some sort of skill they teach in assassin academy along with general deathliness?” Hardison might have been getting a little hysterical.

Eliot had a stubborn clench to his jaw. “It makes sense.”

“No,” Hardison said, flabbergasted. “No, it does not. You chose not to shoot us way before I ever laid eyes on you. Parker asked for your _opinion_. You played ‘I Would Live Forever’!”

“I did not,” Eliot argued.

“Look,” Hardison said. “I would never do that. Maybe we all just get along. You know, like, we’re all cool with each other.”

Eliot smiled, so fake that Hardison’s senses started pinging alerts. “I’m inclined to believe you.”

“Ah, really?”

“Sure.” Eliot’s voice had become very Southern all the sudden, like maple syrup poured over a bowl of broken glass. “But that’s what you do, isn’t it? Incline people.”

Eliot was right that they didn’t know each other. It didn’t make sense for his words to slice deep into Hardison and lodge there, stinging.

But they did.

 

* * * * 

 

Eliot tried to remember if Moreau had ever looked sad.

Mostly, his brain spat out images of the man looking smug. Sometimes outraged.

(Usually pleased, though. Moreau had been so pleased with Eliot’s work, right up to the end.)

Alec Hardison had retreated without responding to Eliot’s accusation, settling himself back at the table and turning partly away from him. He wasn’t doing a very good job of pretending to be engrossed in his phone—staring at the screen for long periods of time before noticing it had gone black.

And, look. It wasn’t Eliot’s fault, alright? He called it like it was. There was a 98 percent chance that Hardison had twisted himself inside Eliot’s mind and planted little seeds of _something_.

It was the only explanation for why Eliot didn’t want to look at Hardison’s sad face anymore.

Eliot considered the gun hidden underneath the sink. He didn’t like guns, but he used them for jobs. He imagined what Hardison would look like dead. He imagined Parker’s face when she came back to the apartment and found it empty. Eliot let his eyes close briefly when he realized that both pictures were equally unacceptable to him.

He imagined himself dead. In that scenario, Parker and Hardison ended up as Moreau’s playthings within a week. Also unacceptable, and he had no idea if it was his choice or the empath’s.

Hardison’s shoulders hunched even further. He looked miserable.

Dammit.

Eliot opened the refrigerator and pulled out a pot of chili. He slammed it down on the stove and turned the burner on high. It didn’t take long for the spicy smell of chili powder and onions to fill the room. It made his stomach wake up and remember that he hadn’t eaten anything all day.

Hardison’s stomach growled loudly.  “Shh,” the man hushed, sounding mortified. Like a kid, he snuck a glance at Eliot to see if he’d heard.

It was all so unfair.

When the chili was hot, Eliot ladled some into two bowls. He grabbed spoons and plunked the whole bundle down on the table.

“Eat,” he said, flinging himself into the other chair.

Hardison rubbed his forehead. “You’re giving me whiplash, you know that? This here is emotional whiplash chili with a sprinkling of mixed signals on top.”

Eliot reached out to take the bowl. “You don’t want it?”

Hardison snatched it back. “I never said that!”

“Then shut up and eat your damn dinner.”

Parker’s voice came from the window. “I want dinner.”

Eliot didn’t jump, but Hardison did. Eliot did raise his eyebrows when he saw Parker somersault through his open window. He lived three stories up and she didn’t have any climbing gear. Apparently she could use her telekinesis for getting up buildings as well as down them.

“How’d it go?” Hardison asked, when he was done coughing.

Parker wasn’t carrying anything. “Great,” she said. “No one followed me.”

Hardison waited. Parker smiled serenely at him.

There was never any doubt in Eliot’s mind who would be the first to crack.

“Well?” Hardison demanded, “Did you get it?”

“Get what?”

“Girl!”

Parker flicked a set of car keys to him.

Hardison frowned. “Laptop, Parker. Laptop!”

“Wasn’t sure what you wanted,” Parker said. She wandered over to the stove and inhaled deeply. “The truck’s outside.”

Hardison’s eyes went very large, very fast. He jumped up and sprinted downstairs without a word.

Parker watched him go, looking satisfied.

“You’re going to attract too much attention,” Eliot said. It was self-defense. He had to dim some of that brightness on her face before it blinded him.

She wrinkled her nose at him. “I’m a thief. I think I can snatch a few dozen computers without anyone noticing.”

“A few _dozen_? Parker—”

“Hardison needs them,” Parker interrupted.

“I’m sure he can run his little geek program with only one computer.”

“No. Hardison _needs_ them.”

“If you say so.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “That’s right. I do.”

Parker’s face had coldness that Hardison’s didn’t, the kind he recognized from when he looked in the mirror. It was strangely comforting.

 

 

 

Hardison claimed the corner of the room with the most outlets and proceeded to build himself a computer fort.

That’s what it looked like, anyway.

He stacked his tech on the two card tables Parker had thoughtfully provided, making a barrier of plastic and blinking lights that separated him from the rest of the room. Then he set to work, engrossed in the blue light of the four screens he’d set up.

The only thing Parker had stolen that wasn’t for Hardison was a wooden chair, remarkably similar to the two Eliot already owned.

“There’s three of us,” she said, catching Eliot looking.

The night deepened and darkened. Parker was doing stretches on the floor that might have needed telekinesis to keep her upright, or maybe she was just that balanced. Hardison hadn’t said a word to them in hours, too busy frantically typing and muttering to himself.

Eliot could go a long time without sleep, but he was starting to feel exhaustion misting his thoughts. That was dangerous. His wooden chairs weren’t very comfortable, but there was no way in hell he was sleeping in his bed with these two around. Eliot closed his eyes and let himself drift for twenty minutes of light, uneasy rest.

When he opened his eyes, Parker had dragged her chair behind the wall of computers and put it back to back with Hardison’s. She was leaned back, head tipped so it rested against Hardison while he worked. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was steady. It couldn’t have been a comfortable position, but she looked peaceful, someone who was exactly where she wanted to be.

Hardison reached back to absently stroke the top of her head, eyes still glued to his lines of code. Even obviously exhausted, he looked peaceful as well. His body had lost the tension he’d been carrying since Eliot had met him. The corners of his mouth had lost their pained tightness. Eliot hadn’t realized until now that he had never seen Hardison relaxed, and seeing it felt satisfying.

Eliot was in trouble.

The room was cluttered with empty computer boxes, the silence filled with whirring and typing and the sound of two extra bodies breathing. He’d been living in this apartment for four months, and it was the first time the place had actually felt like a home.

After Moreau, Eliot had thought he had finally severed the connection between feelings and action. But then he’d stumbled into Toby’s school and spent four months learning to cook. And now, these two…

Parker grunted in her sleep and turned to burrow her face into Hardison’s shoulder. Hardison smiled, and it was just like one of those stupid kitten-meets-dog videos that Toby’s kids made him watch.

Trouble.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Points for spotting the canon quotes!

Parker woke up to Hardison’s whoop of triumph. She was always instantly alert when she woke up, unlike Hardison who needed coffee and many, many minutes.

Immediately, her eyes sought out Eliot Spencer. He was awake too, but she didn’t know for how long. He was sitting at the table right where he’d been when she’d fallen asleep.

He wasn’t a threat anymore, she’d decided.

She scooted up on her knees in her chair and looked over Hardison’s shoulder. “Told you.”

“Does this look like indecipherable gibberish to you?” Hardison crowed, pointing at the list of names on the screen. “No it does not! It is English, people. English!”

“Told you,” Parker said again. Hardison had never failed to do something she’d asked him to do. He’d not-failed so many times that Parker had added it her list of sure things, along with chocolate and freefalls.

She stood and stretched, feeling the energy tingle back into her limbs. “Okay, let’s go see them.”

“Bad idea,” Eliot said, his voice scratchy and low.

Parker ignored him. Instead, she poked Hardison. “Who’s closest?”

Hardison was riding high on success, even though he hadn’t slept all night. He opened some files and flourished his hands at the screen. “I give you Molly Connell. Lives a few hundred miles north of Portland.”

Parker scanned the address. “Good. We can be there in two hours.”

“A few hundred miles, Parker,” Hardison repeated.

“I’ll be driving.”

“Fair enough.”

“Stop!” Eliot stood up too. “Damien Moreau is trying to kidnap you. The Psychic Bureau is trying to kill you. What about this situation makes you think it’s a good time for a road trip?”

Eliot wasn’t happy, that was for sure. Parker wasn’t sure what he was, and she didn’t care.  Urgency was pounding through her now. She bounced up and down. “If you don’t want to come, you don’t have to.”

“I said I’d help you keep the list out of Moreau’s hands,” Eliot said. “Wandering around attracting attention is the fastest way to lose it.”

Parker turned away, done with him. “Hardison, details.”

Hardison was looking between her and Eliot, hesitating. “He might have a point, Parker.”

Anger was the one emotion Parker was actually good at. It burned through her now, looking at the boys. They were such idiots. They had no idea what could happen. “Every minute we waste is another minute where her parents could decide to call the Bureau to collect her. She’s going to slip up one day and use her powers, and it’ll all be over.” Parker felt hot. She wanted to jump off something. “As soon as the Bureau has her, they’ll put her in a holding center all alone, and they’ll take her blood, and they won’t let her use her powers, and she’ll have _nothing_.”

Eliot looked down. Hardison had a hurt face. Why did her stories always give him that face?

“My car isn’t officially registered,” Eliot conceded. “That should give us some cover.”

Parker tried to shake the anger out through her hands. “Give me the details.”

Hardison called up some information on his computer. “Right. Um, it’s not great. No indication of what her power could be. Molly’s mother died a little less than a year ago, and her father, John, is up to his eyeballs in debt. He’s obsessed with his house. Lots of remodeling projects.”

“See?” Parker fixed both of them with the fiercest stare she could. “She needs us.”

Hardison nodded. “I’ll scrub the computers and bring the flash drive, just in case.”

“There’s no way I’m letting you drive my car,” Eliot said.

 

 

 

* * * *

 

Eliot was affronted by how effortlessly they cleared the adults out of Molly Connell’s house. The father was at work. Hardison did some typing magic and Parker made a phone call in an impressive-sounding voice, and suddenly the nanny was rushing away in the family car.

“Don’t get all disapproving on us,” Hardison said as they all got out of the car. “Ain’t my fault the nanny’s got outstanding arrest warrants in three eastern European countries.”

Actually, Eliot had been surprised that the computer had factored into the plan at all. Hardison had to know that his powers would have sent the woman running with less effort.

He _had_ to know that, didn’t he?

“Man shouldn’t let a stranger watch his kid,” Eliot said instead, gruffly.

Molly Connell turned out to be a skinny ten year old with a smart mouth and sharp eyes.

“I know you’re not my dad’s contractors,” she announced, peering at them out a half-open door.

Parker was still keyed up, too busy checking sightlines and plotting exits to answer the girl. Hardison smiled warmly, and so of course Eliot found himself moving to play intercept, because there were some things that were bone-deep after Moreau.

“We’re not,” Eliot said.

Hardison squawked.

Molly tipped her pointy face up at him, eyes narrowed into slits. “Then what do you want?”

“We came to make sure you’re alright.” The words flustered him. “That meet with your approval or do we need to sign a waiver?”

“Lord have mercy,” Hardison groaned.

Molly, however, opened the door all the way and stepped back to let them inside. “You’re telling the truth. Well. I can’t tell with you.” Molly pointed at Parker. “You’re weird.”

“You’re short,” Parker said, breezing past her.

Eliot closed the door and locked it behind him. “Don’t let strangers in here again,” he ordered. “They could be dangerous.”

Molly gave him a slow once-over. “Says you.”

The house was clearly under construction—tarps and tools lay scattered in the hallways, bare wood poked out like bones from unpainted walls. It gave the whole place an air of abandonment. Not much of a home for a child.

“Yeah,” Molly said, at his side. “I don’t like it here much. Too quiet.”

Eliot thought of cooking meals in his apartment all alone. He thought of last night, waking up every half hour to the sounds of people doing quiet, safe things.

Molly was staring at him, looking fascinated. Eliot frowned at her. “Take a picture. Lasts longer.”

“You’re weird too,” she said. “But the opposite weird of that lady.”

Hardison called from the living room, “C’mon, let’s get this show on the road!”

Molly put her small hand on Eliot’s arm. It looked incongruous there, a butterfly perched on the barrel of a gun.

A kid shouldn’t be alone. Eliot felt the certainty of it swell inside him with burning ferocity. Hardison had said Molly’s mother was dead and clearly her father didn’t give a rat’s ass.

Eliot could protect her. He wanted to protect her. He had never wanted anything more strongly in his entire life. The desire to keep her safe was breaking his heart, it was breaking his heart, it was _breaking his—_

Someone said, “Stop that!”

Molly was yanked away from him and it was the worst thing to ever—

Cool fingers brushed his temple lightly, and it was like coming out of a dream. The suffocating feelings from seconds before had been whisked away, leaving only confusion. Eliot jerked back, smashing hard into the hallway wall.

Hardison had placed himself between Eliot and Molly, one arm outstretched to keep her away. Parker had her hands latched around the girl’s arm. Molly’s face was devastated, tears trembling in her eyes.

“I’m sorry!” she cried. “I didn’t mean to!”

Eliot snapped his head back against the wall once, just to feel something real.

“They’re gone,” Hardison said, his voice pitched low, only for Eliot. “The emotions she gave you. I’m sorry I touched you, but you felt ready to cut your heart out and give it to her.”

Eliot pushed himself hard against the wall. He would have. Oh, he would have.

Hardison misinterpreted his silence. “I swear, I just took her out of your head and that’s all.”

Eliot chose to believe him for the next few minutes.

“What was that about?” Parker said loudly. She shook Molly’s arm—not hard, a clinical part of Eliot’s brain noted. “We came to help you!”

“I didn’t mean to,” Molly repeated miserably. She looked at Eliot beseechingly. “Promise. I just wanted you to like me, I didn’t know it would do that. It’s never been like that with anyone else.”

“It doesn’t matter if you meant to or not. You did.”

The sentiment was Eliot’s, but the words were Hardison’s. He was looking angrier than Eliot had ever seen him. “You’re an empath! That’s a gift, not a weapon. I swear to god if I hear about another empath using their powers to hurt someone, I’m going to scream. I mean, what the ever-loving-hell is wrong with you people?”

“I’m just doing what my dad said!” Molly shouted.

“I don’t care who said what!” Hardison shouted back.

Eliot pushed himself away from the wall. “That’s enough,” he said, in the voice he knew cut through a room.

Sure enough, Hardison subsided, huffily. “Man, you know I’m right.”

Eliot’s head stung where he had hit it against the wall. It was a clean, anchoring feeling. “You’re not here to get into a shouting match with a little girl.”

“But—“

Molly’s stricken face was still looking at him like _he_ had broken _her_ heart. She wasn’t Moreau—not yet. She was just a confused kid. If Eliot had been here alone this would have been a disaster, but maybe between the three of them, they could nudge this empath in a different direction.

(Less Damien Moreau, more Alec Hardison.)

“You came to help her,” Eliot reminded. “Focus.”

Hardison sighed his frustration to the ceiling. “Fine, fine, fine.”

Parker, taking her cue from Hardison, relaxed her grip on Molly’s arm. She knelt next to the girl. “What did you mean, your dad said?”

 

 

 

“The blogs say he’s grieving,” Molly said bitterly.

She and Parker had sat down in the hallway. Hardison was still hovering annoyingly close to where Eliot stood, listening.

“No one cares,” Parker said brusquely. “What does he tell you to do?”

She’d gotten that same horrible tension back that she’d had in his apartment. Parker might be strange, but this chapter of her story seemed clear to Eliot. Not the details, but the gist. It made Eliot want to punch someone.

“Nothing bad,” Molly said defensively. “He just gets sad sometimes, about Mom. So he has me take it away and make him happy. That’s all.”

“You ever get taught how to do that properly?” Hardison’s voice was much softer now.

Molly shrugged. “I figured it out. It doesn’t hurt me much anymore.”

“Hang on, wait,” Eliot said. “Why would it hurt?” Eliot knew empaths. Taking away emotions should be like what Hardison did earlier, effortless.

Molly looked at him like he was sort of stupid. “Because he hurts.”

Eliot swung towards Hardison and stared at him.

Hardison rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh boy. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

Parker unfolded herself from the floor. “Then you’d better get to it. Eliot and I have work too. See you later, bye!”

She charged down the hallway, forcing Eliot out the front door.

“What the hell, Parker?”

Parker wiggled Hardison’s phone at him. Her smile was the same one Eliot had once seen on a wild mountain lion. “Want to help me talk to John Connell about being nice to his kid?”

Eliot felt his own smile slide dangerous across his face. “Yes, I do.”

“Thought so.”

Twenty minutes later, Eliot had heard more grown-man sobs than he’d heard since that time in Kansas—and there had been cattle prods in Kansas. But he and Parker had managed to convey the vital role that Molly’s wellbeing played in John Connell’s continued wellbeing, so it was worth it.

“Baby,” Parker scoffed.

“The man lost his wife and just realized he was hurting his daughter. Calm down.”

“I don’t care about him. You don’t either, really.” Her happiness had a violent edge, and a monster inside Eliot stirred in response.

If they wanted, the two of them could burn down the world, but who wanted to live in a world like that?

“No, I don’t,” Eliot agreed. “But maybe I will, someday.”

Parker tilted her head, considering that. “Hardison says caring is a good-guy thing. He says I should ‘cultivate’ it.” She did finger quotes around the word and everything.

Eliot was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the direction this conversation was taking. Just because he didn’t think these two were actively trying to kill him didn’t mean he wanted to discuss feelings.

He shut the conversation down by saying repressively, “Seems like you care already.”

Inexplicably, that seemed to be the right thing to say. Parker let some of her manic energy fade away, visibly winding down from the frantic place she’d been operating from since she’d woken this morning.

“You should go back inside and watch Hardison,” she said.

“What? No way. He’s doing—empath stuff with the kid. I don’t need to be there for that.”

Parker was herding him back up the porch steps. “You need to see,” she said.

(“ _You need to see the consequences of your poor choices, Spencer, my friend_.”)

Eliot was pinned between the front door and Parker. He could have just shoved her out of the way, of course, but the last time he’d touched her, he’d wound up with an elbow in his throat. Even now, trying to crowd him, Parker kept at least fourteen inches away from him.

Eliot went inside the hallway and waited there.

Hardison and Molly were laughing in the living room, easy and peaceful-sounding.

“That actually wasn’t bad,” Hardison said.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Molly said, pleased.

“Try again.”

There was quiet, then, Hardison’s voice, strained. “Ease up. Remember, it’s an—”

“Invitation, not a command,” Molly finished. “I know, you keep saying. It’s hard to do!”

“Yeah, it is. So try again.”

Silence, and then another burst of Hardison’s delighted laughter. “That’s it.”

“It didn’t hurt!”

“That’s because you weren’t forcing anything out of me. You offered, I accepted. My mind wasn’t trying to lock you out.”

Eliot couldn’t listen to any more. He slipped out the door again, heart beating fast, fighting against something that felt a lot like hope. Usually an empath saying exactly what he wanted to hear was a bad sign.

Parker was perched on the porch railing, one leg bent, the other dangling. She said, out of the blue, “When I first met Hardison, I didn’t know people could use bottle openers for opening bottles.”

Eliot leaned against the railing, staying several feet away. “It’s called a _bottle opener_.”

“Well, I didn’t know the name, obviously.”

“What the hell did you think people used them for?”

“Breaking fingers.” Parker stood up, balancing effortlessly on the railing.

Eliot wondered if every conversation with Parker was studded with landmines or if she just had it out for him in particular. “That’s one way to use them.”

“But that isn’t what they’re meant for,” Parker said. She was looking at him like there was another layer to this conversation. And maybe Eliot could get it if he actually cared, but he didn’t care. He didn’t.

Parker sighed loudly and stepped off the railing.

She did fall, but she fell slowly, like a balloon losing it helium. It gave her enough time to land lightly on her feet. The effect played with Eliot’s brain, seeing a person he knew should be on the ground already drift slowly downward.

“Nice trick,” Eliot said.

“You should see me do it from a thousand feet up.” 

 

 

* * * *

 

 

Hardison had been this exhausted only several times, which, in a life built around international hacking sprees and Netflix binges, was certainly saying something. Using his powers with so much control was draining, and he had only slept for a few hours on the drive over here.

He was too tired to teach anymore, so he entered Nanna’s number into Molly’s phone and hit send.

“Tell her Alec gave you this number,” he said, tossing it back.

“What?” Molly sputtered. “Who did you just call?”

Hardison dragged himself to his feet, leaving Molly on the living room floor. “My Yoda. Now go in that corner and be polite.”

“You can’t just steal people’s phones you dope—hello? Yes ma’am, sorry ma’am. Molly.”

Hardison chuckled as he dropped onto the leather couch. Molly had the stunned tone of children everywhere when faced with Nanna’s lectures on proper language.

Parker had appeared in the living room somehow. Hardison waved limply at her.

She sat next to him, legs crossed underneath her. “She’s talking to Nanna, isn’t she? She’s got that same happy surprised face you get.”

“I think she’s going to be okay.” Molly was curled up around the phone now, talking quietly. Parker was right, she looked like she’d been given a gift.

“We talked to the dad,” Parker said with satisfaction. “She’ll be okay.”

Parker’s smile was contagious in a way her emotions never were. “I’m glad we came here.”

“Eliot didn’t want to come back inside.”

“Can’t really blame him. Molly got him good.”

“She said it had never happened that way with anyone else.”

Hardison didn’t like to tell people’s secrets. Fine, that was a lie, he loved to tell secrets, but he was trying to be better and not run his mouth all the time. Still, it was _Parker_ , and she was always exempt.

“He’s been worked over by an empath before,” Hardison said. There was immediate relief in verbalizing the truth after carrying it inside. “They tore up that boy something fierce. He’s totally vulnerable to an empath’s powers. I’ve never felt anything like it.”

“Someone broke the door in his head,” Parker said, understanding immediately, because Parker was amazing.

“More like pulverized it.”

Parker’s fingers started tapping a furious rhythm on the couch cushions. “That’s wrong.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s more than wrong. That’s—” Parker’s feet started bouncing too. “If someone did that to me, I’d—”

“No one’s going to do that to you,” Hardison said fiercely. He should have seen that coming. “I won’t let them.”

“ _I_ won’t let them,” Parker said. Her eyes were as cold and hard as the steel door in her mind.

Hardison offered her a hand, palm up, just in case she wanted something to hold. Parker grabbed it and squeezed—too hard, but that was just Parker.

“I think Eliot must have been different than me,” Parker said. She was looking at their joined hands. “I think he never locked his doors to begin with.”

Hardison thought about bowls of chili and a sniper rifle turned away from its targets.

“I think you’re right.”

Parker leaned into him. “Does that make it worse? It feels like that makes it worse.”

Hardison dropped his head onto her shoulder and didn’t say anything.

The front door slammed open. Eliot shouted, “Molly!”

Molly jumped to her feet just as Eliot pounded into the room. Hardison jolted off the couch. Urgency was steaming out of Eliot, tingling in Hardison’s head.

“What kind of car does your dad drive?”

“A BMW,” Molly said warily. “Why?”

“Because there’s a black SUV parking across the street.”

Parker stood up beside Hardison. “Neighbors?”

“No,” Eliot said.

Molly whispered into the phone, “I’ll call you back,” and slipped it into her pocket.

“I can feel them,” Hardison said. His voice felt like he was forcing it through a long tunnel. “Faint, but coming closer. Seven guys—maybe eight? They’re not messing around, man, these guys are focused. Like, laser focus of death and destruction and I don’t know what else, but it ain’t good, I’ll tell you that.”

“Easy,” Eliot said. 

“Lasers of death, Eliot! I’m too pretty to die, that’s what my nanna always said and I believe her. I can fake a 911 call and bring the police here. Or I can dig up some dirt on these guys, figure out who we’re dealing with. Parker, give me my phone!” Hardison made grabby hands at her.

“There’s no time.” Eliot’s urgency was ebbing away, leaving a smooth expanse of calm. He surveyed the room, posture straight and eyes sharp.

It was comforting, actually. Hardison let his calm seep into his head and used it to steady himself. Eliot knew what to do.

Eliot said, “There’s one main hallway that connects this floor. Whether they come in the front or back, we’ll all meet here. I’ll take them out. Parker, you’re with me.”

Parker pulled her taser from her pocket and grinned. “Cool.”

“Molly, I want you to go up to your room and hide. Stay small and quiet until I come get you.”

Molly said, her voice trembling, “Who are they?”

“Bad guys. But they’re not going to hurt you, I promise.”

“I’m really sorry about what I did,” Molly blurted out.

Eliot rolled his eyes, but Hardison felt affection flickering to life and knew Molly was feeling it too. “Go hide.”

Molly scampered up the stairs.

Eliot turned to him. “Hardison,” he said, a strange blankness in his voice. “Make them afraid.”

Hardison spared a moment to ask the saints for patience. “You don’t _listen_ ,” he hissed. “All this time I’ve been explaining it to you and it’s in one ear and out the other!”

“We don’t have time for this. Shut up and do it.”

“ _I can’t!_ ”

 Eliot stared at him. “What.”

“I can offer an emotion to somebody, but they’ve got to want to accept it for my mojo to work.” Hardison was getting offended by the shock in Eliot’s head. “The mind’s got defenses, man! I don’t know how to break those down. I told you that!”

“You said you _wouldn’t_.”

“Well I wouldn’t! And also I can’t.”

Eliot passed his hand roughly over his face. “Dammit Hardison.”

 The front door clicked open.

Eliot flattened himself against the edge of the doorway. He held up his hand for silence.

Heavy footsteps in the hallway. Hardison’s terror was suddenly a heavy thing inside him, weighing him down. If this was the Bureau, it meant a bullet in the brain. If it was Moreau…he didn’t want to think about that.

The first intruder made it to the living room doorway. He was dressed in black tactical gear and had his rifle up, ready to shoot.

Eliot exploded into action.

Four seconds. That’s all it took for him to grab the bad guy’s gun away from him and land a series of blows that had his opponent on the floor.

Parker jumped forward and jabbed her taser into the guy’s neck.

Eliot was in the hallway now. Hardison poked his head around the corner to see what was happening, Parker a vibrating presence at his side.

Watching Eliot fight was a revelation.

Hardison had theoretically known that Eliot was a badass, but this? This went beyond badass. It wasn’t even the same solar system.

Eliot’s hands blurred with the speed of his attacks, relentlessly fast. And yet, when Hardison tried to read him, he could only feel stillness. Altogether, the effect was like watching a particularly deadly avalanche rip down the side of an immovable mountain.

Parker’s breath ghosted past his ear. “Can we put this on the Always Good list?”

Hardison nodded.

Their would-be attackers were on the ground. Three men in the hallway, plus Parker’s taser victim.

Eliot tossed his hair out of his face. “Embarrassing.”

“Dude,” Hardison said, not bothering to disguise the awe in his voice. “Serious respect right now.”

Eliot looked at him like he was ridiculous. “We have to check the outside.”

“Let’s find more people for Eliot to hit.” Parker looked like someone had offered her four chocolate espressos. “I like watching him.”

Eliot glared and turned away from her. Hardison valiantly tried to ignore the bloom of pleasure that sweetened the air as Eliot bent to bind the hands of the unconscious men.

 

* * * *

 

Eliot finished tying up the guys he had punched. He’d left them alive, though surely it would have been easier to kill them. He took away their guns, but didn’t keep any for himself. Now that Parker thought about it, he had used a gun to cover their escape from the apartment, but then he’d left it behind like he didn’t actually want it. A mistake, in her opinion.

“These guys aren’t government,” Eliot said.

“Moreau?” Parker asked, shifting closer to Eliot and the pile of weapons.

Eliot nodded.

“How did they find us?” Hardison asked. He glanced up the staircase where Molly had run to hide. “You think he knows about the kids?”

“He doesn’t have the list,” Eliot said. “You said it was the only copy.”

“We need info from whoever’s left outside,” Parker said. “How many, Hardison?”

“At least four.”

Eliot rolled his shoulders and eyed the door. “Follow my lead.”

“Wait,” Parker said. “Isn’t there a back door to this place?”

In the thirty-nine seconds it took for them to hammer out a rough plan, Parker swiped a pistol.

“Keep them talking until I get to you,” Eliot said. His voice was all growly, but Parker didn’t think he was actually angry. “They’re not going to damage you—Moreau wouldn’t like that.”

“Always with the creepy,” Hardison said.

“Why is that creepy?” Parker asked Eliot. She moved close to him, keeping eye contact. In her experience, standing too close to people unsettled them enough for her to have her way with their pockets.

“It’s not,” Eliot said. Carefully, Parker reached behind him and slid the barrel of the gun into the waistband of his jeans. “It’s—”

He stopped, body going tense. Parker attempted a distracting smile that she’d seen a friend do in similar circumstances, but Eliot’s strong hand closed around her wrist in a tight grip. He shook his head.

She broke his hold and tugged his shirt over the gun. “Yes.”

“Parker…”

She turned away from him and went to meet Hardison at the front door. “Yes. Go outside.”

Eliot obeyed her, vanishing down the hallway toward the back door.

“This is a terrible plan and we’re gonna die.” Hardison said, conversationally.

“I thought you were too pretty to die.” Parker flung the front door wide open and held up her hands. “Take us to your leader!”

The two men pointing rifles at them did not look impressed.

“She means we surrender,” Hardison said from beside her.

“They knew what I meant.”

“It’s an easy mistake, lay off the girl about it. Y’all judging, I can see from your faces, but there’s no call for that.”

Parker and Hardison were moving forward slowly, out of the house and down the porch steps.

“Put down the guns,” an accented voice said. “Let’s not damage Moreau’s catch.”

Hardison caught her eye and mouthed, _Creepy_.

The two armed guards lowered their guns and moved aside. Parker and Hardison let their hands drop.

Another man, his left arm in a sling, walked toward them. Parker narrowed her eyes. He looked like a fox. Everyone knew foxes were sharp-toothed nasties who couldn’t be trusted.

“Alec Hardison and Parker,” the man said, rolling their names slowly off his tongue. “Our meeting last night got a bit mucked up, I’m afraid.”

“Tranquilizer dart guy,” Parker said, putting it together.

 “Call me Chapman,” he said with a thin smile.

“How’d you find us?” Hardison asked.

Chapman took a deep breath through his nose, like he was smelling. “Spencer, of course.”

Parker’s shock rocketed through her, leaving everything burning in its wake. Eliot? But, Eliot—

“Nice try.” Hardison was using his unimpressed voice, telling Parker that everything was okay. “Eliot didn’t tell you squat.”

Chapman tipped his head. “No?”

“No,” Hardison said, sure as sure.

Inside Parker, the flames quietly went out.

“Fine. But he didn’t have to. His mind leaves a blood trail.” Chapman focused on Hardison. “ _You_ know, empath.”

Hardison made a weird face. It wasn’t a good face. He shook his head hard, like he was trying to dislodge something.

Parker crowded closer to him. “Hardison?”

“Oh, you do know,” Chapman said. His voice had crystalized into sharp shards. “Maybe I underestimated you. After all, you clearly have Spencer rolling over and begging for it. He begs beautifully. Want to see?”

Hardison made a choked noise deep in his throat. Parker ran her hands frantically over his chest, but he was breathing just fine. Whatever was upsetting him was all in his head.

That wasn’t good.

Hardison was an empath. Normally he was good at blocking psychics from getting into his head. Whatever this Chapman guy was, he was strong.

This whole plan was going sideways, fast.

Hardison’s breath was coming in little pained pants. He was hurting. How was he hurting? There was no blood, no wound.

Chapman’s smile was the slice of a knife when he turned it on her. “Parker. I’ve heard rumors about you.”

_Tap tap tap, let me in._

“Telepath,” she said. She had Hardison’s arm and was trying to pull him backwards, away from Chapman.

“You say it like an insult.” Chapman raised his hand. “Stop trying to run.”

Hardison cried out and covered his face with his hands. He slipped from Parker’s grip and sprawled on the grass at her feet.

“What are you doing to him?” Parker wanted to sink down beside Hardison and wrap her arms around him, but she couldn’t. Not in front of an enemy.

“Just a memory of pain,” Chapman said easily. “He’s so soft and sweet, isn’t he? It doesn’t take much to hurt him.”

_Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap._

“I’m not letting you inside my head.”

“You don’t have to let me.”

Pressure built in Parker’s head. The world narrowed to Hardison’s pained whimpers and the feeling of _pulling. Bending. Warping._

Parker knew what every thief knew. Locked doors didn’t hold forever.

There was crunching from somewhere off to her left. The pressure eased, and the world came back into focus.

Chapman’s two guards were unconscious on the ground, and Eliot was just a glimpse of movement as he ducked behind the corner of the Connell’s house.

Chapman was still on his feet, but he looked angry. “Really, Spencer?” he called. “Hiding?”

Smart Eliot. Telepaths were like empaths. Their powers worked better with eye contact and proximity.

Parker dropped her hand down to rest on Hardison’s head. She could feel him trembling in bursts of pain.

Chapman was stalking forward, and Parker knew she had to stall him.

“He took out your men in the back too,” she said. Her voice was steady, but it sounded strange to her ears.

Chapman barely spared her a glance. “Eliot!”

The first name was a shock—the familiarity it implied. Parker connected it with what Chapman had said to Hardison. They knew each other.

Eliot’s voice answered, echoing off the walls of the house. “You can call all you want, Chapman. I ain’t your dog.”

“It’s not the same without you,” Chapman said. His eyes were moving, hunting.  

“I bet.”

“Moreau has me doing retrieval and you know how rubbish I am at that.”

“Pretty damn obvious.”

Chapman raised a hand quickly, like he was trying to grab something. Then he hissed through his teeth, clearly unsuccessful. “You didn’t waste any time finding a new empath to sell your soul to. It’d be funny if it wasn’t so sad, how much you want him. Both of them.”

Parker had wanted Hardison from the first day she met him—wanted him at her side, at her back, and, eventually, in her head. To know Hardison was to want him. She was beginning to realize what she wanted from Eliot as well. She wanted to understand him, to learn from him, to make him do that thing where he pretended not to smile. She didn’t understand why Chapman was saying it like he expected the words to hurt.

 “That’s the stuff.” This time, Chapman’s voice was gleeful. He was smiling again. “No one’s pain tastes quite like yours. It took me months to get your mind how I wanted it and then you buggered off.”

Eliot was silent.

“Give yourself up without a fight,” Chapman said. “I followed you here in the first place, so it’s really the least you could do. The little empath who lives here, what’s her—ah, Molly—I didn’t even know about her. She’s just the cherry on top.”

Nothing.

“This doesn’t have to get messier. You know I can make it very messy indeed.”

Chapman swung around, and the second his gaze landed on Hardison, he was clawing at his head again, making those terrible pained sounds.

The pressure in Parker’s mind was back, stronger than before. She couldn’t run. She could barely move.

“Eliot!” she shouted.

She thought of the way Eliot had checked to see if the men he’d taken down were still breathing.

Hardison choked.

Chapman was going to take Molly.

“ _Eliot, now!_ ”

The gunshot was a clean crack through the air. Chapman’s head snapped back and he fell. The pressure was gone.

Parker ignored the body. She dropped to her knees beside Hardison and pulled him close, feeling his skin hot against hers. She was full—relief and anger and love all exploding inside her.

Hardison was taking in big, steady breaths. She pushed herself away from him and jumped to her feet so that she could move. She had to _move_

Eliot was coming towards her slowly, cautiously. He disassembled the gun as he walked, dropping the parts behind him like breadcrumbs.

“You alright?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Ask Hardison, I don’t know.”

Eliot smelled like explosives when he got close. He looked at Chapman’s body, then at her. There was uncertainty there, and she knew he was waiting for her to pronounce her judgement of his actions. Well, they hadn’t just been his actions.

“I gave you the gun,” she said.

“I used it.”

“I told you to. I’m not sorry.”

“No.”

“Does that make us bad?”

Eliot hesitated. She saw from his face that he didn’t have an answer.

Suddenly, Hardison was there. He was breathing normally and his face only had an echo of pain. He slipped an arm around her waist, and she leaned into him.

“I think it makes you… _you_ ,” Hardison said quietly.

Eliot’s mouth twisted into something unhappy. He started to turn away.

Parker understood about wanting and being afraid at the same time. She reached out and snagged his wrist tightly, like he had held hers inside.

Unlike her, Eliot didn’t break away. He stopped, tethered.

“I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing,” Parker said to Hardison. 

“Look, there’s a dead guy on the lawn, and I’m not saying that isn’t disturbing. I’m planning to cry about it later. All I know is, if I’d been here by myself, Molly would be with Moreau and my brain would be mush.”

“Upsides and downsides,” Parker said.

Hardison smiled faintly at her. “I think you have way more upsides.” He moved closer to Eliot, trying to close the circle. “Eliot, you hear that?”

Eliot finally turned towards them. Whatever Hardison felt from him must have been a doozy, because Hardison immediately took a step closer and softened his voice. “Hey. Hey, man.”

Parker watched, rapt, waiting for the gap between them to close. She wanted it to close.

Eliot’s eyes darted between her and Hardison. “I worked with Moreau back in the day. A lot.”

“I know,” Parker said.

“I put that together,” Hardison said, shrugging.

Eliot’s face was set, voice heavy and determined. “You don’t know what I’ve done.”

Parker wasn’t very good with words, but she recognized this as a time when she had to try. “Before we met you, Hardison and I decided that we were going to change. Stealing the list from the Bureau was our first try.”

“We want to help people,” Hardison said. “Steal stuff for a reason, try to make the world a little better.”

“You can change with us,” Parker said.

“If you want,” Hardison added.

Eliot met Hardison’s gaze with a hint of challenge. “You know what I want.”

Hardison groaned. “Are we back to that? I told you, I can’t force emotions—”

“I know,” Eliot interrupted. “I’m just saying.”

“Well, I don’t know!” Parker said, impatient. “We’re not all empaths!”

Eliot did the thing Parker liked where he smiled but pretended not to. He moved a little closer to them. “We have to get rid of the body.”

“Burn it,” Parker said immediately.

“That is disgusting,” Hardison said. “I’m not helping.”

Eliot moved closer still. There were only a few inches of space around him. “You’re not both staying in my apartment.”

“I know a guy with a place in Boston,” Hardison said. “It’s nice. Above a bar.”

“Does the bar make chocolate espresso?” Parker asked.

“I’m sure they would if you asked.”

“Moreau is going to come after us for this,” Eliot said.

“I know,” Parker repeated. Because, duh.

Hardison sighed. “And I, unfortunately, put that together.”

“We’ll handle it,” Parker said. “Ignore the distractions, work the problem. That’s what I always say.”

“She does always say that,” Hardison confirmed.

Eliot twitched his arm closer to his body, and Parker moved with it until her shoulder brushed his. Hardison, still holding her, was pushed closer as well, pressed up against Eliot’s other side.

They all stood there for a second, and to Parker, it felt like a live circuit, humming with power.

“Chocolate espresso is ridiculous,” Eliot grumbled.

“It’s amazing,” Parker corrected.

“No one needs that much caffeine and sugar.”

“Dude, clearly you’ve never tried to hack the Federal Reserve. That is some serious sleep-deprivation right there.”

“Hey,” Parker said. “Are we a team now?”

Hardison raised his eyebrows at Eliot.

He glared at both of them. “Whatever.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter starts the beginning of some Shady Dubcon Business Involving Empath Powers. So don't follow Eliot's example and please be good to your own brains!

“Guys, the next Loving Hut is off this exit.”

From the backseat, Parker snorted.

“Hardison,” Eliot said.

“What? I’m just saying that if we want some sort-of authentic vegan Chinese, the next _Loving Hut_ is—“

Parker’s snort turned into an all-out laugh.

In the front passenger seat, Hardison turned to Eliot with an extremely pleased expression.

“Every time,” Eliot muttered. He swung his car into the exit lane. “Every damn time.”

“Okay. Consolation stereo rights,” Parker commanded.

Hardison’s smugness vanished. “Babe, no. Not after the Ohio of country music hell.”

“You heard her,” Eliot said, letting some smugness of his own color his voice. Ohio had been where he and Hardison had realized that Parker was willing to sell her radio time for the right price. Eliot was in debt twelve-dozen homemade donuts and it had been totally worth it.

Consolation stereo rights had made an appearance around Erie to keep Hardison from flinging himself out the window.

Hardison knocked his head dramatically against the back of his seat. “If I have to listen to ‘Red Solo Cup’ one more time, Eliot. _One more time_ …”

“What’re you gonna do? Huh? Tell me.”

“You don’t want to know.”

“I wanna know. Because if it involves punching, I would pay good money to see it.”

“Loving Hut!” Parker shouted, pointing ahead. “Loving Hut!”

For five days, this had been Eliot’s life.

Five days since packing a duffle bag and saying goodbye to Toby, then piling into his car with Parker and Hardison to drive to _Boston_ of all places.

By unspoken agreement, no one had talked about Chapman. They didn’t talk about getting rid of the body or the way Molly’s father had cried when he’d hugged her. No one mentioned Moreau.

Instead, it had been five days of techno music and truck stop novelty hats and long detours for tourist traps.

(Four nights of Parker’s head dipping to rest on his shoulder as he drove, of Hardison’s quiet voice in the dark describing the plot of some movie he would never see.)

Eliot was in freefall. He had lost the chance to grab a parachute back at Molly’s house—probably earlier, if he was honest with himself. Now, with Boston only a few hours away, reality was rushing up to meet him.

This had been his life for the past three-thousand miles, but this wasn’t _his_ _life_. His life was waiting for him in Boston: hiding from Moreau, explaining about Moreau, planning how to fight Moreau. Parker and Hardison were his team now, but they weren’t his—

(His.)

Hardison was looking at him curiously, but Eliot knew that he wouldn’t say anything. Hardison had made it clear that he couldn’t help reading Eliot’s emotions, but that he wasn’t going to pry. The most Eliot ever got was an easy, “You good, man?”

And that alone was just—

Hitting the ground after a fall like this was going to hurt.  

 

 

The Boston apartment was actually pretty nice. When Hardison had said “above a bar”, Eliot had not pictured a loft with seven-hundred sports channels.

“Your buddy’s renting out this place?” he asked, satisfied after two security sweeps.

“More or less.”

Honestly, sometimes Eliot wanted to hit the guy. “What does that mean?”

“It’s empty!” Hardison said defensively. “He’s been in Europe for months. I sent him an email, okay? I’m sure it’s fine, just chill.”

Parker was eyeing the circular staircase in the middle of the room with deliberation. “This will work.”

“ _Thank_ you,” Hardison said, with an aggrieved look at Eliot. “I only ordered one more bed for the bedroom because that’s all that would fit. But I figured the chances of all of us being asleep at the same time were slim to none, and besides, there’s a couch. Also, my new tech should be here within a couple hours, thank you, Amazon.”

Eliot was learning that Hardison gave gifts lavishly and sneakily. He wanted to give Eliot a place to stay, and so he bought an extra bed and oh-so-casually laid out the way it would—and would not—be used. Hardison probably thought he was being subtle.

Well, Eliot had no intention of arguing. It wasn’t safe, even after moving across the country. He’d seen how these two had protected themselves in their last apartment.

“Now that we’re here, we need to talk,” Eliot said. Just saying it brought the moment of impact closer.

Hardison looked panicky. He sat down on the couch and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Talk about what? I’m good. We’re good. It’s all good. I have boxes to unpack.”

“Eliot’s right.” Parker was perched on the metal railing of the staircase. “Moreau will be looking.”

“Don’t worry about that for now,” Hardison said quickly. “I set up a fake paper trail heading north into Canada. In fact, traffic cams just picked up a picture of us crossing the border into Washington. Clumsy us.”

“You can do that?” Eliot said, before he could stop himself.

Hardison was loosening up. “Hell yeah. I also reserved three hotel rooms under one of Parker’s aliases, after I poked a few holes in Alice White so they would figure it out.”

Three rooms. Eliot imagined Moreau studying that information, trying to decipher Eliot’s place in all this. It was grimly entertaining.

“That will work for a few weeks, but not forever. Chapman was Moreau’s best psychic, but he has others. I give it two weeks before he finds us. Three, tops. The Bureau will take longer, but they’re not idiots.”

“We can’t help anyone if we’re worried about getting killed or kidnapped.” Parker hooked her knees in the railing and flipped upside-down. “I have a friend who says stress is bad for you.”

“You want to talk about taking Moreau down?” Hardison asked. “Okay, yeah. We should totally do that.”

“Talk or take him down?” Parker asked.

“Both, girl. We are multitaskers.”

“That’s not what I want to talk about,” Eliot said.

Parker made an upside-down curious face. Hardison looked nervous again.

“Back in Portland, you two didn’t use your powers.”

Hardison emitted an indignant noise, like an angry lap dog. “Whose fault is that? I still have nightmares about that freaky-ass glare you fixed me with.”

“I jumped out a window,” Parker offered.

“Not that. I mean in the field. When you’re attacked.”

Parker did a backflip off the stairs and landed perfectly on her feet. When she faced him, she was frowning. “No one ever showed me how.”

Eliot had suspected as much. He figured if Parker had any kind of control, she would have thrown Chapman into the side of the Connell’s house.

From his corner of the couch, Hardison said, “I already told you. I can’t and I won’t.”

This was going to be a hard sell.

“You two have got Moreau’s attention now.”

“You too,” Parker said.

“I always have Moreau’s attention,” Eliot said darkly. “Point is, you can’t afford to be defenseless. You’ve got to let me train you.”

Parker, at least, looked intrigued. “You’re not psychic.”

“But I know how to train them.”

“Moreau?” Parker asked, no judgement in her voice, just the question.

“Yes,” Eliot said shortly.

Actually, it had been mostly Chapman. All it had taken was a few telepathy sessions and Eliot had understood what it meant to have powers—and how to control them. It was almost the only thing from that time that Eliot’s mind didn’t try to shove deep, deep down.

“Can you teach me how to make people stop talking?” Parker asked, warming to the idea.

“I can teach you to stop bullets.”

Parker’s eyes got wide. “Yes!” she said. “I vote yes!”

Hardison’s face was stormy. Fantastic. He was pissed and stubborn, which meant they could be here all day.

“Do it, Hardison,” Parker said, unexpectedly.

“No way! Parker, you get snatch bullets out of the air or whatever. I have to break inside people’s heads and hurt them. That messes people up.” Hardison glanced at Eliot for a second too long. “I’m not doing that.”

“Maybe there’s a different way,” Parker said. “Maybe you can practice making people really calm instead. Calm people don’t shoot things.”

“Yes, they do,” Eliot said.

Parker waved that away. She went over to sit on the back of the couch, close to Hardison. “Point is, there has to be a way you could defend yourself without smashing their heads.”

“I don’t want to do it.”

She offered him her hand, palm up.

Hardison took it without hesitation.

“I didn’t like seeing you get hurt,” she said, so quietly that Eliot barely heard her.

Hardison sucked in a big gulp of air, like Parker had just punched him in the solar plexus.

Parker drew her hand away. “You’re my friend. Now do it.”

Hardison groaned. “This is blackmail. That’s what this is.”

“Actually, it isn’t,” Parker said, her voice regaining its normal matter-of-fact tone.

“How am I going to practice?” Hardison said weakly. “I can’t go around testing this out on people in the street.”

“You practice on me,” Eliot said.

Parker and Hardison both stared at him.

“Well, that sounds like a terrible idea,” Hardison said eventually. “What else are you planning to do, stick your tongue in an electrical socket? Drink a bottle of antifreeze to see what happens? No, Eliot. I’ll practice with Parker.”

“Hardison,” Eliot said calmly. “From what you’ve said, Parker’s brain is like a Sterenko. You can’t start there, you might hurt each other. Besides, we both know that if you can’t get into my brain, you can’t get into anyone’s.”

“I could hurt you too! This is crazy!”

It struck Eliot how _innocent_ Hardison was. He looked young— clutching the sleeves of his soft green shirt, his eyes wide with distress and his legs tucked up underneath him. Amusement bubbled up inside Eliot.

“Hardison, I was with Damien Moreau for over a year.”

“I know! That’s what I’m--”

“I know whatever you see in my head is ugly, and I’m not trying to say it isn’t. I learned a long time ago, you can’t control what people do to you. But I also learned to control myself, no matter who’s playing with my head. _I_ make my choices. Teaching you is going to make everyone sleep better at night, so that’s what I’m choosing to do. Besides,” Eliot finally gave in and smirked at him, “if you get too rough I can always beat your ass.”

Hardison gave him a hesitant smile back. “That was the most words I’ve ever heard you say at one time.”

“Good speech,” Parker said.

“We start slow,” Hardison said.

“Absolutely.”

“If I say we’re done, we’re done.”

“Sure.”

“Yay!” Parker cheered. She sprang up off the couch. “Let’s be superheroes!”

 

 

* * * *

 

To absolutely no one’s surprise, Parker turned out to be a natural. The next day, Hardison busied himself with his glorious new tech while Eliot and Parker cleared a space in the living room to kick the snot out of each other. At least, that’s what it looked like they were doing whenever Hardison emerged long enough to pay attention.

He wasn’t hiding. Absolutely not. He just had stuff to do. Their fake road trip to Canada had to be subtly maintained, he had to wire up a bunch of security for their new apartment, and he had a list full of psychic kids to research. There were a lot of kids, ranging from a chess champion to a young boy with a series of extremely suspicious hospital visits. Hardison had marked Randy down as their next trip.

“Hardison, look!”

Hardison pulled out of research mode to pay attention to Parker. He did a double-take. “What am I looking at?”

Parker was closer to his computer nest than he thought, holding Eliot’s forearm out for his inspection. There was a red mark there, quickly fading. Parker and Eliot wore identical pleased expressions.

“I hit him!” Parker said. She poked at the bruise excitedly.

“Stop,” Eliot grumbled, pulling his arm away. Hardison felt his pride, rich and tangy.

“Good job on your punching, Parker. We’re all very proud. But I thought you were learning how to use your powers.”

“That was step one.” Eliot jerked his head for Parker to follow him. “Come on.”

Hardison tried to go back to his work, but he was distracted. Eventually, he gave up and watched Eliot and Parker over the top of his screens.

Parker was learning some sort of form, apparently. Eliot circled her, nudging her feet into a different position and tapping her arm so she would move it. Parker obeyed, patient in a way she rarely was.

“It’s like punching,” Eliot said. “Same headspace. Same goal.”

Parker’s eyes were narrowed in concentration. “It’s not the same. I can _feel_ my fists.”

“You can feel your powers too. They’re a muscle, like everything else.” Eliot took the same stance beside her. “Do it with me.”

 They were like art, moving together. They both wore tank tops, Eliot in white, Parker in black, a matched set. Sunlight from the windows glanced off their skin and kissed it golden and smooth.

“No,” Eliot said. He dropped behind Parker and guided her arm through a pushing motion. “Like this.”

Hardison was prone to getting sentimental, but he didn’t think he was overreacting when he felt his throat tighten at the sight. Parker didn’t let people touch her like this until she cared about them. He’d only seen her hug one other person besides himself. Now, the lines in her body were relaxed and trusting, even with Eliot pressed up against her. Eliot’s emotions had gone to that calm, still place they did when he was fighting. The whole thing was so beautiful, so exactly what he wanted for both of them, that it was kind of hard to breathe.

Across the room, a bottle of orange soda wobbled on the counter.

“Yes!” Parker shouted, throwing her hands up in the air.

Eliot didn’t say anything, but his hand lingered slightly longer than necessary on her shoulder.

 

 

 

Hardison wasn’t hiding.

But rather than face his thoughts, he was adjusting the angles of the security cameras for the second time.

Since Chapman, Hardison had been trying really hard not to think about certain things.

He wiggled the camera to see the entrance of the bar. He didn’t think about a tile floor under his knees, all of the pain receptors on fire in his brain. Moreau’s hand stroking his hair. _“Stay awake. You need to see the consequences of your poor choices, Spencer, my friend.”_

Aw, damn.

Hardison had figured out pretty quickly that Chapman had given him a memory borrowed from Eliot’s head. Hardison knew he shouldn’t have seen it. He had been jumpy ever since, waiting for Parker or Eliot to ask what exactly Chapman had put in his head to hurt him so much. How was he supposed to answer that? Oh, it was nothing, just some torture Eliot had experienced. Surely he wouldn’t mind Hardison knowing about it.

Also, that memory had been terrifying as hell, and he could not be blamed for not wanting to think about it ever again.

“Something going on in the bar?”

Parker’s chipper voice snapped him back to the present. Her voice always did.

“What? Oh. No. Just aligning the security cameras, you know.”

“Smart,” she said. She looked triumphant and exhausted, sweat clinging to her skin. “I moved the bottle!”

“I saw.” Hardison didn’t even have to fake his enthusiasm. “You’re amazing, girl.”

“I know!”

Happy Parker was one of the more adorable sights in the universe. Hardison looked over to Eliot for someone to share this experience and found him already looking back. Hardison grinned and Eliot shook his head—fondly.

“Now it’s your turn!”

Hardison’s smile fizzled. “Oh,” he said. “I think we should probably wait until tomorrow. I mean, Eliot’s been beating you up all day, he must be tired.”

“Quit stalling.” Eliot had lost the calm he’d been rocking all day. Now his irritation rubbed gritty against Hardison’s mind.

“You said you would.” Parker was stern. “You said.”

“Clearly my past self is an idiot who should never talk.” Hardison pushed his chair away from the table and stood. He patted his computers in a sad farewell. They never asked him to do crazy things.

Eliot sat down on the couch and waited.

Hardison’s laugh was a strangled, nervous thing. He was reminded of his first prom, he and his date sitting stiffly in the front seat of his car, waiting to see who would make the first move.

“Hardison, I will break your legs if you don’t sit down,” Eliot growled.

“How is that supposed to make me feel better?”

Parker knocked him with her elbow in a friendly, painful sort of way. “Grizzly bear invasion.”

 “I could totally survive grizzly bears,” Hardison said, gratefully seizing the distraction. “I would make some sort of repellant. Bear whistles? That’s a thing, right?”

Eliot was looking judgmental. “You would last thirty minutes.”

“And I suppose you would live forever?”

“I once fought a bear while concussed. Pretty sure I’d be okay.”

“Now you’re just making stuff up.”

The conversation had carried Hardison to the other end of the couch. He flung himself down, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach.

Parker wedged herself in next to him, pushing him closer to Eliot in the process. Sometimes, she really wasn’t that sneaky.

“So,” Hardison said, drawing the word out awkwardly.

Eliot was starting to get actually angry. “Take this seriously,” he ordered, in that scary voice that made the _prey_ part of Hardison’s brain quiver to attention.

“Start slow,” Parker reminded him.

Right. Yes. That was helpful. He could do slow.

“Okay. I’m just going to read you. It won’t—it won’t hurt.”

“Oh my god,” Eliot muttered.

Hardison didn’t touch him. He didn’t need to, and he didn’t want to.

His heart was pounding. It really was like his prom.

Hardison took a deep breath and held it before letting it out slowly. Eliot’s smashed-up brain used to give him a headache, but Hardison had adjusted. Eliot didn’t hurt him anymore, but he was just as overwhelming. Usually, reading people was a quick skim of their most immediate, accessible emotions. With Eliot, everything was accessible.

Another deep breath. Hardison closed his eyes.

Eliot’s emotions came pouring out to meet him. The current ones: zips of concern and irritation, all mixed with that warm, flickering affection of his. The fundamental, deeper ones: oceans of calm, a concerning amount of guilt, and a dizzying variety of pain.

“If you don’t try, I swear I will punch you in the neck.”

Hardison opened his eyes to see Eliot’s disgruntled face. “Huh?” he said, slow and fuzzy.

“He’s doing it,” Parker said. “That’s his reading face.”

Hardison was glad he’d opened his eyes. The startled look on Eliot’s face was priceless.

It turned out that Eliot’s surprise felt like champagne bubbles on Hardison’s tongue.

“Shh,” he said, and let himself sink back under.

After the initial shock, it was actually pretty great. Eliot was so intense about everything that being inside his emotions was breathtaking. Eliot didn’t get upset, he got _furious_. He didn’t like, he _loved._

Hardison couldn’t help pushing in deeper. Every time he did, Eliot’s mind opened for him in an easy, warm slide. Hardison had never felt anything like it. He could feel everything, explore every inch, reach into the deepest places that people usually blocked instinctively. Eliot’s mind felt like it had been created just for an empath.

That thought sobered him. Parker’s hand was warm on his shoulder, and he used it to float back up to the surface.

This time when Hardison opened his eyes, Eliot’s face was a lot closer. They’d curved in towards each other until their foreheads were almost touching. Eliot’s eyes swept open and Hardison was close enough to hear his long inhale.

Hardison didn’t move. “Was that okay?” he asked, quietly.

Eliot pushed him back gently with one hand on his chest. “It was a good start.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Hardison. It was okay.”

 

 

* * * *

 

Hardison should listen to Parker more—clearly reading Eliot had been exactly what he needed to calm down. That night, Eliot made them something with pasta and tomatoes while Hardison perched on a stool and chattered.

Eliot and Parker made eye contact over Hardison’s head. They both liked Hardison, so it was okay to acknowledge that he talked too much.

“You going to bed?” Eliot asked her, after dinner was done and the kitchen was cleaned to his standards.

“No,” Parker said, confused. “Why would I do that?”

“It’s ten-thirty and you worked hard today.”

“Sleeping is boring,” Parker said. “Want to train some more?”

Eliot did.

Hardison was playing with his computer, but he stopped every once and awhile to offer encouragement. This time, she moved the bottle of soda after only an hour, instead of an entire morning.

“That’s enough for today,” Eliot said.

Parker was tingling with success. “Hardison, let’s rob a bank.”

“How about, as a counter offer, we watch _Pirates of the Caribbean_?”

 “And Eliot makes popcorn.”

“Anyone can make popcorn,” Eliot protested. “It’s not hard.”

But he made her some, and then he sat on the couch on the other side of Hardison, which felt balanced.

Since they’d left Portland, Parker had been thinking about balance a lot. She knew that feeling when she was in perfect equilibrium, like nothing could ever topple her. It’s how she’d felt for the last week.

“This is good,” she said, loudly. She didn’t mean the popcorn.

The boys didn’t answer, but she knew they agreed.

 

 

They were all feeling successful the next morning. Probably too successful. Overconfidence could kill a thief, Archie had always told her. It was one of the reasons he hadn’t liked her to use her powers.

But Parker wasn’t thinking about Archie when Eliot and Hardison claimed the couch for more brain training.

“You should stay,” Hardison told her.

“What else was I going to do?”

“Rob a bank?” he said, teasing her.

He looked cheerful. Even Eliot didn’t look as grim as usual.

“Focus,” Eliot said.

“I’m focused. I’m here, I’m ready.”

They’d decided that Hardison should try to offer Eliot an emotion, using his powers like he usually did.

“That doesn’t work on me,” Parker said, a little sadly. “It sounds cool.”

“Oh, it is,” Hardison said. “Eliot, I’m going to offer you some calm. You just have to take it.”

“Sure,” Eliot said. It was the kind of brush-off Parker gave when she wasn’t sure what Hardison was talking about.

It started out like yesterday. Hardison and Eliot closed their eyes and Parker watched them go away somewhere together. It seemed like an okay place, judging by the little half-smile on Hardison’s face.

Eliot shifted back.

That hadn’t happened yesterday.

Hardison didn’t look as though anything was going wrong. He just leaned forward to make up the distance.

Eliot shifted again, an uneasy movement that reminded Parker of their first meeting. Eliot had been on a couch then too.

Hardison hummed encouragingly under his breath, like he sometimes did to a tricky computer problem he wanted to solve.

Eliot was pressing himself into the couch cushions, and his knee was coming up as a barrier between himself and Hardison. He could have used it to hit Hardison in the face, but he didn’t.

Parker didn’t know a lot about people. That was Hardison’s area, and she had grown used to trusting his judgment about what things were okay.

But Hardison wasn’t always right.

Parker grabbed his shoulder and yanked him away from Eliot, so hard that he lost his balance and fell backwards on his elbows.

“Parker!” he yelped. “What—”

Parker moved away from the couch, tucking her hands in her pockets. Maybe she’d done the wrong thing.

It only took a second for Hardison to get it. Eliot hadn’t moved, and his stillness wasn’t the good kind.

“Oh my god,” Hardison said, horrified. He scrambled to get off the couch. “Eliot, oh my god.”

Eliot slipped back into motion like he’d pressed play inside himself. His hand shot out and snapped around Hardison’s wrist, stopping him.

Just like she had done to Eliot.

Just like he had done to her.

Hardison shook his head, tugging ineffectually in Eliot’s grip. “You don’t really mean that.”

Eliot squeezed harder. Parker couldn’t remember Eliot ever touching Hardison like that.

“Just because you want something doesn’t mean it’s good for you!” Hardison sounded really upset, his voice trembling and choked. Parker had never wanted to be an empath until right this second, because she was completely lost.

“Easy,” she said, because Eliot had said that to calm Hardison down once, and it had worked.

Hardison shuddered all over, like he’d tasted something really gross. “I didn’t stop. I thought it would be okay, and I am so, so sorry.”

“What happened?” Parker demanded. She was still giving them space, but she was vibrating with her need to know. “What did you do?”

“He didn’t do anything,” Eliot said.

“Yes I did!” Hardison practically shouted.

“Sit.” Eliot yanked Hardison back down on the couch, but he didn’t let him go, like he thought Hardison would run away. Hardison looked like he might. “You’re freaking Parker out.”

“Well, good! I’m freaked out! I am freaking the hell out, Eliot!”

“What _happened_?” Parker asked, desperately.

“He offered,” Eliot told her. “I didn’t accept, so he kept offering. Insistence from empaths isn’t something I’ve had positive experience with in the past.”

Parker was torn between concern for Eliot and a rush of defensiveness for Hardison.

“He wouldn’t hurt you,” she said.

“I know.” Eliot held up Hardison’s wrist. “I’m trying to tell him.”

Hardison squirmed in Eliot’s grip. “I don’t care if you want this to work, or if you trust me, or whatever. I scared you so we’re done. You don’t get to be a martyr for us.”

“That’s not what this is.” Eliot looked at Parker. “It’s about bottle openers.”

“What is that, some kind of code word? How do you two already have code words and why am I not—you know what, it doesn’t matter.”

Parker thought about when she first escaped from the holding center and met Archie. She’d been so afraid of him for months, thinking that he would be like the Bureau guards. But she hadn’t wanted him to go away. She’d wanted him to train her, even if she had to fight her own head to make it happen.

“It’s about getting better,” Parker said, hoping she was understanding Eliot correctly. “Just because someone could hurt you doesn’t mean they will. It just takes a while to get used to.” She frowned at Hardison. “You aren’t making it easier by getting all hysterical. Listen to whatever Eliot’s telling you with the hand thing.”

Eliot nodded to her. She’d done a good thing.

She’d done a good thing pulling Hardison away, too. Parker took a moment to feel pleased.

“Sometimes, I don’t get you people at all,” Hardison said, despairingly.

“Then _listen_ to us,” Parker said. “You don’t always know everything.”

Eliot shifted the full power of his stare to Hardison. Parker had been taking notes about that stare—it was impressive. “Let me try again.”

“Wait,” Parker said. It wouldn’t do the boys any good to repeat exactly what they had just done, but she was obviously the only one thinking clearly right now. “Hardison, talk.”

“Right now?”

“When you do whatever it is you do, talk.”

When Archie was talking her through a complicated laser grid, it had helped to focus on his weird accent. It had reminded her where she was.

“Eliot, stand up.”

“I’m not a puppet,” he complained, standing. He was normally shorter than Hardison, but now he loomed over him.

“Keep holding his wrist.”

Both the standing and the grabbing made Eliot look like he was in charge. That was good.

“Okay,” she said, satisfied. “Do it. I’ll watch.”

“This is weird,” Eliot muttered.

“Do it!”

Hardison cleared his throat. “Did I ever tell you how my nanna found me in foster care?”

“No, why would that be something that comes up in everyday conversation?” Eliot was grumpy again, which Parker counted as a good sign. It meant he wasn’t scared anymore.

Hardison closed his eyes. “Look, Parker said to talk. I’m talking. So, I’m with this family who’s alright. And I’m just starting to realize there’s something different about me, like, not everyone can know what people are feeling, right?”

Eliot’s eyes were closed now too.

“And then the family get suspicious, because I wasn’t exactly the most subtle person back then.”

“Back then?” Parker said.

Eliot’s lips twitched.

“They’re ready to call the Bureau. But then—um. _Ah…_ ” Hardison trailed off, lost in whatever was happening inside Eliot’s head.

“But then?” Parker prompted

“Then—holy Moses, _Eliot_ —then Nanna comes into that house like she owns it and takes me with her. Taught me everything I know about what we can do. You feel that?”

The last part was directed to Eliot, who grunted.

“Okay. Okay.” Hardison was babbling to himself, quietly. “Here we go. Nice and easy. Don’t freak out, Alec, don’t freak out.”

Eliot’s hand on Hardison’s wrist went white from holding it so tightly. Parker darted in and tapped Eliot’s knuckles, because Hardison needed his wrist. Eliot loosened his grip and sighed out in one big, long sigh.

“Hey, check it out.” Hardison pulled back and opened his eyes, looking surprised. “We did it.”

Eliot blinked lazily at them, his whole body relaxed. “Told you,” he said easily. He smiled—big and bright and like nothing Parker had ever seen on his face.

“Okay, that’s disturbing,” Hardison said quickly. “I’m taking the calm back, okay?”

“Sure,” Eliot agreed.

Hardison swiped his free hand across Eliot’s forehead, and Eliot stood a little straighter. He let go of Hardison immediately.

His smile was gone. Parker had liked that smile—it was even better when he wasn’t trying to hide it.

“So, that went just as terribly as I’d been expecting,” Hardison said. “Hooray. If you’ll excuse me, I have some swords I need to throw myself on.”

“You have swords?” Parker was jealous.

Eliot said, “I’m going for groceries.”

He was out the door before Parker could mention she’d accidentally relocated his wallet to her jacket pocket and forgotten to put it back. Oh well. He would figure it out.

 

* * * *

 

Eliot stayed away from the apartment for the rest of the day. He walked, concentrating on the hard streets under his feet and the sounds of traffic cutting through the warm air. He found an outdoor yoga class on the Boston Common and joined them for an hour. He used the five dollars in his pocket to buy some zucchini and an apple from a vegetable stand.

He spent a lot of time thinking about cost, and not just because he didn’t have his wallet.

Hardison had to learn to defend himself against other psychics. That was non-negotiable.

Eliot watched the families in the park, ate his apple, and realized that he’d never had someone he actually liked inside his head before.

It hadn’t made it better.

Letting Hardison read him the first time hadn’t exactly hurt, but he hadn’t liked it. He hadn’t exactly lied to them, but he hadn’t been completely truthful. Empaths weren’t the same as Parker’s bottle openers, not for him. They were more like assault rifles. Maybe there was another way to use them, but it was damn hard to think of something that didn’t involve blood.

There were too many bad memories for him to ever like empath readings, probably. Having his emotions changed had been worse—even though he’d known there was a good reason for it.

Well, whether he liked it or not was irrelevant.

Eliot would pay whatever it cost him to keep them safe, he’d known that when he agreed to move to Boston with them.

(He had paid steeper dues to crueler creditors.)

It was getting late when he turned back to the apartment. He knew he didn’t have to go back—they would understand if he needed to spend the night somewhere else to get his head straight.

He didn’t want to.

He wanted to go home.

 

 

Parker beamed at him when he walked through the door. Hardison was at the table hiding behind his computers and didn’t look up.

Parker. Without her, today would have gone to hell.

“Why do you have a cucumber?” she asked. She was sitting on the kitchen counter, eating a bowl of cereal and drumming her feet against the cabinets.

“It’s not a cucumber, and get down from there. We make food on that.”

“I stole your wallet by accident.” She tossed it to him. “Sorry.”

“How do you accidentally steal something?”

“My hands just do it.”

“Well, tell them not to do it again.”

He hoped she heard what he was trying to say. _Thank you, I’m back now, everything is okay._

From the way she smiled at him, he thought she did.

“I was practicing,” she said. “Look.”

She kicked out one leg, barely missing his stomach. The motion made the blinds rattle.

“Huh.” Eliot had never seen that before, but it figured that Parker would find ways to access her telekinesis that were weird.

“Hardison won’t talk to me,” she said, offhandedly, like it didn’t bother her. “So I went out and cased two Liberty Mutuals. Twenty minutes each, that’s all it would take.”

“You said you wanted to steal to help people,” Eliot reminded.

“It might help Hardison feel better.”

“I don’t think so.”

Parker kicked her heels hard against the cabinet. “Fix him.”

Eliot put his zucchini on the counter. “That’s not really what I do.”

“It is now.” Parker kicked him in the leg, not gently.

Eliot sighed. Well, he’d known what he was getting himself into when he decided to come back tonight.

Reluctantly, he moved across to where Hardison was resolutely not looking at him. Eliot’s irritation grew, familiar and comforting.

“Really? You’re ignoring Parker now?” he demanded. “You’re not a kid, Hardison. Today was rough, so man up and get over it.”

“It’s not just about that,” Hardison mumbled. He didn’t even looked annoyed at Eliot’s insult, which wasn’t a good sign.

“Then what?” Eliot asked, exasperated. “Tell me, because this is the last time I’m putting up with this crap, man.”

“At Molly’s house, Chapman showed me a memory of yours.”

That—that was not the direction Eliot had expected this conversation to take.

“What.”

Hardison was looking at him beseechingly, but Eliot didn’t know what he was trying to ask for. “I couldn’t help it. I didn’t want to see it.”

Oh, Eliot had no doubt about that. If it was a memory Chapman had, there were uncountable types of ugly it could have been.

Panic was hovering on Eliot’s horizon, but it wasn’t touching him yet. “What did he show you?”

“He was hurting you.” Hardison was talking like he couldn’t spill the words fast enough. Secrets were not this man’s friend. “Moreau was there. He said to stay awake.”

It could have been worse.

“Italy,” Eliot said. “Right after I figured out Moreau had been working me over. There was no point in keeping up the nice-guy act after that.”

“I can’t see you hurt like that again,” Hardison said. “You understand? Today was too close.”

Eliot felt detached from this conversation. “You could never do what he did.”

Hardison put his head in his hands.

“What did he do?”

Eliot wasn’t sure how long Parker had been standing behind him.

“Don’t ask me that, Parker.” He heard the sharpness in his voice from afar. “You don’t need that in your head.”

She accepted that.

“Chapman is dead,” Eliot said. The words meant nothing to him, and that felt good. “Look at me.” He let his hand rest gently on Hardison’s shoulder. “I know you’re scared, but I’m not. I’ve got the greatest thief and the kindest man I know backing me up on this. Hardison. You’re the kindest man I know.”

“That is not a high bar,” Hardison muttered, but he was looking Eliot in the eye.

“Can we let this go?” Eliot asked.

“One more thing,” Hardison said. Awesome. “Your head is like an empath paradise.”

“I know.”

(Hardison wasn’t the first empath to comment on it. He wasn’t even the tenth.)

“Okay.” Hardison was looking suddenly flustered. “I just—thought you should be aware. Reading you is pretty great. For me. So. Um.”

Eliot needed him to stop talking about it. “Just give me some warning before you jump in.”

“Are we done?” Parker said. She looked bored. “Can Eliot and I practice punching now please?”

Hardison rolled his eyes. “We’re done. Go do your thing.”

What happened when a freefall never ended? Maybe it became the ground that was solid under your feet.

 

 

* * * *

 

 

That night, Parker knocked over Hardison’s glass of soda with her mind. Soon, the apartment was ground zero of tropical storm Parker.

“I think she’s got it,” Hardison called to Eliot, ducking as a pillow went flying overhead.

Eliot looked like he was having some serious regrets. “Great.”

Parker stood on the kitchen table, arms outstretched, grinning with delight.

Hardison made a tactical choice to take cover behind the couch. A few seconds later, Eliot couched down to join him.

Something crashed in the kitchen. Parker cackled.

“It’s possible that this might have been a mistake,” Hardison said.

The couch rose a few inches off the ground and slammed back down.

Eliot winced. “You think?”

 

 

Parker eventually ran out of juice. Hardison and Eliot emerged from behind the couch and Hardison whistled at the devastation. Pictures were off the walls, glasses were shattered, and the entire contents of the silverware drawer was flung across apartment.

“I can’t believe no one called the cops,” Eliot said.

“Oh, they tried. For some reason, their calls kept getting diverted to the pet store around the corner.”

Parker didn’t seem to notice. She ran over to them and flung an arm around both of their shoulders. “Best. Day. Ever.”

Hardison was very aware of Eliot all the sudden. “Um, no, it wasn’t.”

“I have superpowers and you two aren’t tense around each other. Best day.”

When she put it like that…

They made a half-hearted attempt at tidying up the mess. It was hard to feel committed when they all knew Parker would probably wreck the place again tomorrow.

Parker was right, Hardison didn’t feel nervous around Eliot anymore.

When Eliot had grabbed him, Hardison had thought the world was going to explode. Eliot was intense enough on a regular basis, but when he was trying to project certain feelings? There wasn’t any doubt left in Hardison’s mind that Eliot wanted to do this. He trusted Hardison and Parker. He might even—Hardison stopped himself. That wasn’t really any of his business, and he was trying to get better at being nosy.

Hardison threw all the pillows back on the chairs while Eliot swept up the glass in the kitchen. Parker wandered around picking up forks and spoons. Eventually, though, she left them on a heap on the table and went to curl up on the couch.

“Being a superhero is exhausting,” she said.

Hardison gave up cleaning and came over to sit beside her because, well, it was Parker. As soon as he sat down, she put her head in his lap and closed her eyes. “If you want to do that thing, you can do it.”

And then she fell immediately asleep.

Getting Parker to go to bed was a nightmare, but she would nod off in the middle of a conversation without any trouble. It was just one of those Parker things.

Hardison realized he was smiling down at her.

“Eliot,” he called, not bothering to be quiet, because Parker would sleep through anything like this.

Eliot came over, drying his hands on a dishtowel. When he saw them, he paused.

“Want to know a secret about Parker?” Hardison asked.

Eliot looked wary. “Do I?”

“I know you do,” Hardison said. It was a testament to how much better things were that he could say it like a joke and Eliot could shake his head at him.

“When Parker sleeps, her mind opens up a tiny bit. Just enough to sneak in little things.” Hardison rested a hand on Parker’s soft, bright hair. “When she lets me, I can give her the best dreams.”

Eliot dropped to the floor and crossed his legs under him. He was level with Hardison’s knees and Parker’s face. “How does that work?”

“Dreams are based on emotions. I usually give her a mix of excitement and happiness because she likes dreams where she jumps off stuff.”

“I think she’s had enough excitement for one day,” Eliot said. He was keeping his voice low, because he hadn’t yet grasped Parker’s amazing sleep skills.

“You know, that is actually a good point.”

Eliot was clearly working himself up to something, so Hardison waited. He’d learned that with Eliot, waiting him out worked half the time.

Sure enough, after a minute or so of silence, Eliot reached out and touched the top of Hardison’s hand with one finger.

“You could give her some of this,” he said. “If you think she’d want it.”

Hardison was awash in that deep, endless calm that Eliot sometimes had. “She’d want it,” Hardison said. He threw in his feeling from yesterday, watching Parker and Eliot in the sunlight. He wrapped it up and let it drift into Parker’s mind, sifting it through the cracks like powdered sugar.

 

* * * *

 

 

Eliot was curious to discover what Hardison could do now that he wasn’t so scared. He’d seen the amazing intelligence of the man, and he had no doubt that his empath powers would be equally as impressive once he cut loose.

It was a good thing. Hardison needed to strong—like Parker.

“Alright,” Eliot said. “No tiptoeing around. Don’t offer me anything. Just push.”

Hardison screwed his eyes shut. On the couch next to him, Eliot intentionally relaxed. This was going to hurt, but it was also something he wanted.

Eliot waited.

And waited.

Something tingled in the back of his mind for a second before fading away.

Hardison opened his eyes. “Well?” he asked, hopefully.

“What was _that_?”

“I was pushing you some happiness!”

“Do I look happy right now?”

“I don’t know, your face is always like that. Maybe that’s your happy scowl. Don’t look at me like that, man! I was really trying—scout’s honor.”

“That’s just sad,” Eliot said. He reached out and snagged a piece of cereal from the bowl of Cheerios on the coffee table. He flicked it over Hardison’s head to where Parker was perched on the table, watching.

She flung up a hand, and the Cheerio stopped in midair before dropping to the ground.

“See?” Eliot demanded. “Parker is learning something useful.”

Parker munched her own bowl of cereal with a serene expression, ignoring the dark look Hardison sent her way.

“Just wait until I can make you do stuff _you_ don’t want to do,” Hardison said. “You’re not going to be so condescending then.”

“Awesome. So next year, when you actually manage to do that, _you_ can pick the next training exercise.”

“Again with the condescension. I do have feelings, you know.”

 

 

* * * *

 

“Push!”

“I am pushing! I’m pushing!”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“What the—hey, get off, Eliot! Get off!”

“Hold still.”

“Unnecessary manhandling. Flag on the play!”

“Don’t be a baby.”

“Parker, help!”

Parker concentrated on bouncing a Cheerio between her two hands without actually touching it. She was getting good—soon she was going to have Eliot start firing bullets for her. The boys were wrestling on the couch. Looked like fun.

 

 

* * * *

 

“Forceful,” Eliot said, for probably the millionth time in two hours. He looked as murderous as Hardison felt. “Like you’re kicking down a door.”

 “I am a gifted computer prodigy. How many doors do you think I’ve kicked down, huh? Age of the geek!”

“I don’t know what else to tell you! That’s how you do it!”

“Maybe I should find a door and kick it. That will solve all our problems.”

Eliot looked suddenly thoughtful.

Hardison hoped Parker would still love him after he strangled Eliot, but even if she didn’t, he was going to _strangle Eliot._

                                                                                                                

 

* * * *

 

It was dark outside when they declared defeat.

Hardison was complaining of a killer headache and Eliot could feel one threatening as well. He pinched the bridge of his nose to stave it off.

In a dazzling display of tact, Parker kept quiet. She was amusing herself by firing one of Hardison’s nerf guns and freezing the foam darts before they hit the wall.

“I need a beer,” Eliot said.

“Same.”

This day had been a total waste. Eliot would have been better off taking Parker to the range and letting her practice stopping bullets. He was pissed—at Hardison, at himself. They needed to be ready when Moreau’s people came and they were running out of time.

Hardison levered himself off the couch. “I’m sorry,” he told Eliot. “Really.”

Eliot was sorry too.

“I’m not used to this kind of stuff.” Hardison rubbed at his short hair. “I’ve never really used my powers like this before, and I wouldn’t want you to think I’m messing with you or—”

Now Eliot was really sorry. He should probably make it up to Hardison somehow. Hardison seemed like a cake guy. Maybe Eliot could bake him one and say it was for Parker.

“—wasting your time on purpose. I know it’s—”

Eliot let his head fall into his hands. Forget cake. He was consumed with remorse. He hadn’t felt this sorry since—

Since—

“Hardison,” he said. Damn, his voice was unsteady. He swallowed and tried again. “What did you just do?”

Hardison stopped monologuing and actually paid attention. “Wait a second. Wait, wait, hang on, you feel different.” His whole face lit up, and Eliot was just so sorry. “That’s it! I did it! I can’t believe it, the answer was staring me right in the face. Oh Alec, you truly are a genius.”

“Great,” Eliot gritted out. “Are you done throwing yourself a party?”

“Oh, crap.” Hardison’s hand darted out and brushed the emotions away.

Eliot took a deep breath and tried not to look too relieved.

“What did you do?” Parker asked. She had been drawn in by Hardison’s shouts of triumph.

Hardison looked inordinately pleased. “I wanted it.”

“You said you were trying before,” Parker said accusingly.

“But I didn’t actually want Eliot to feel the things I was pushing, I only wanted it to work. Just now, I was thinking about Eliot, and that I wanted him to know how sorry I felt. That was the missing piece. I think I have to want people to feel whatever I’m pushing.”

(Moreau had given him whole weeks of bliss so potent Eliot had barely believed he was alive. What did that _mean_?)

“Forceful,” Hardison was saying. He was clearly caught up in whatever empath epiphany he was having right now. “That makes sense that it feels that way to you. I want it to happen, and so my mind forces it to happen. I had no idea my powers could work that way. That shouldn’t work—how does that even work? That is incredibly amazing, you know?”

Eliot was suddenly sharply aware that he hadn’t even known these people for two full weeks, and he’d just given them grenade launchers and shown them where to aim.

Too late now.

A Cheerio hit Hardison smack in the forehead. “Incredibly evil.” Parker was frowning at him. “Pushing bad. Remember?”

“I—what? Girl, I know, I was just saying it’s _interesting_ from, like, a science point of view.” Hardison looked offended. “I was just _saying_. Don’t give me that look.” He pointed at Eliot. “And don’t you start. I can feel you starting. You trust us, remember?”

Eliot did.

He trusted them, but he hadn’t been feeling that until Hardison said it, and—and—

Parker waved her hand and Hardison nudged a little further away from Eliot. “Go get beer,” she said.

“I didn’t mean—”

“We know,” Parker said, her voice like steel. “Go get beer. And then come back.”

Hardison obeyed her, casting them wounded looks as he gathered his wallet. Eliot couldn’t make himself feel anything about that. He just couldn’t.

When Hardison left, it was like the air got lighter.

“Dammit.” Eliot jumped up from the couch and stormed into the kitchen.

 

 

* * * *

 

Parker waited until she heard the sound of chopping to start up before following Eliot.

She jumped up to sit on the counter near the stovetop. Eliot shot her a glare but didn’t yell at her.

Parker played with the gas burners, letting them click a long time before igniting. It made a bigger fireball that way. Plus, the sound was satisfying: _Click click clickclickclickclick._

Eliot threw down the peppers he was cutting and pointed his knife at her. “I will slice your fingers off.”

Eliot’s threats didn’t scare her.

“I have a friend,” she said.

“Wow. Maybe for your next birthday you’ll get a pony.”

“Horses are murderers. Anyway. This friend, her name’s Sophie. I met her while I was stealing the Tiara of Bangladesh and she was stealing Bangladesh. Or something.”

Eliot slowly stopped chopping. “Sophie _Devereaux?_ You’re friends with Sophie Devereaux?”

“That’s not the point of the story,” Parker said, frustrated.

“She once convinced a mark that he was actually his pet poodle.”

“Whatever. Can we get back to the point?”

“Do you have one?”

“Sophie said that when bad things happen to you, it can stick the door in your head shut.”

Eliot’s stillness wasn’t the scared kind. It was the listening kind.

“I asked her why I didn’t want to hug Hardison,” Parker admitted. She hadn’t told Hardison this. “And she said all that stuff was behind the door, and when it was stuck, things weren’t right with other people.

“So I’ve been thinking. If bad things can stick a door closed, maybe they can also stick a door open.”

Eliot wasn’t looking at her, so Parker didn’t look at him either. She looked at his pepper knife when she said, “Hardison helped me open my door. I can help you close yours.”

Eliot looked at her then. His face looked like the opposite of a smile. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“I’m a thief,” Parker said. “I know locks. And safes. And alarm systems.”

“It’s not the same thing.”

“Doesn’t matter. You need it to work, so we’ll make it work.”

Eliot just looked tired. “Parker…”

“You need to know what’s him and what’s you.”

He couldn’t argue with that. He and Hardison both needed to stop arguing with her and do what she told them to do.

She slid off the counter. “Anyway. That was the point of the story.”

 

* * * *

 

Hardison went to three different beer distributers before he found a place that would let him mix a pack of the bitter microbrews Eliot liked. He made a few other stops too, adding to the growing heap of appeasement in the backseat of Eliot’s car.

He had been such an idiot.

When he staggered back in to the apartment, the tension seemed to have kicked down a notch. Eliot was stirring a pot of something that smelled temptingly like chili and pretending not to notice Parker stealing pieces of green pepper.

“Did you rob a store?” Parker asked.

“No, I got beer for Eliot.” Hardison put the six-pack on the counter. Eliot was tending his chili, so Hardison set it out of his way. “Uh, I picked up some of those organic canned tomatoes you used yesterday. The wine was just there, so I thought, you know. And the internet swore by that microplane zester, even though I thought that sounded like some kind of construction tool. I had to leave the cast iron skillets in the car because, damn, those things are heavy.”

The counter looked like an altar to some sort of wrathful kitchen god.

Eliot cast his eye over his offerings. “I don’t need this stuff.”

“I know. You can let Parker smash it if you want.”

Hardison had been trying to apologize without mentioning feelings, because he figured Eliot would prefer it that way.

“Oh!” Hardison fished around in his back pocket. “Also, here’s a tiny saltshaker. For, I don’t know, tiny salted baked goods?” He perched it on top of the pile.

It tipped the scale. Hardison felt Eliot soften. “Shut up and eat some chili.”

“Is it your famous emotional whiplash chili?” Hardison asked, teasing cautiously.

“Eat,” Eliot said, longsuffering.

When he handed Hardison an empty bowl, the tips of their fingers touched, and Eliot didn’t flinch away from him.

 

* * * *

 

Eliot was terrified, and then he wasn’t.

He was happy, and then he wasn’t.

Every time Hardison stopped, Eliot said, “Again.”

 

 

 

 “Your mind is a diamond, and everyone else is a clown trying to steal it,” Parker told him.

 

 

 

 Eliot’s head ached. He knew Hardison’s did too.

“Again, Hardison.”

 

 

 

(“I almost wish I didn’t have to send you out on jobs. Your mind is perfect,” Moreau said. “It’s better than sex.”)

 

 

 

“There’s a knife in your head, and if people get too close, it’s going to stab their eyes out,” Parker told him.

 

 

 

(Eliot laughed and drank a sip of beer. “I don’t know what kind of sex you’ve been having, Damien, but clearly you haven’t met any redheads.”)

 

 

 

He honestly didn’t mind the unhappy feelings. Hardison felt bad about pushing things like despair or fear, preferring the sweeter emotions. It didn’t make a difference. Intrusion was intrusion.

“That is extremely upsetting,” Hardison said.

“Go again.”

“No, Eliot. We’re done.”

 

 

 

 

(Soft hands on his temples and burning pain inside his body. He was in love, even though he knew he wasn’t. He was being tortured and wanted to feel angry, but he felt only gratitude.)

 

 

 

 

“Your mind is a kid being taken away to a bad place,” Parker told him. “You have to protect it.”

 

 

 

 

(His hands were shaking too badly to wash off the blood. Moreau cupped his face and the horror faded. “Who do you belong to, Eliot?”)

 

 

 

(He rested his head on Moreau’s shoulder. It meant, _You._ )

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all have been so incredibly generous with your comments! Thank you for your kind words! 
> 
> Also, this chapter really kicks the warnings into high gear. I apologize in advance. (Sort of.)

Hardison drifted awake lazily, warm on the couch from the sun hitting him just perfectly. The apartment was quiet, so Parker was either asleep or gone. His money was on the latter.

When he opened his eyes, he saw Eliot sitting in an armchair, reading. His hair was damp, so he had probably already had his morning run and taken a shower.

Yesterday had been intense. Too intense. Hardison understood the necessity in learning how to use his powers, but it was a thin line between practicing hurting Eliot and _hurting_ _Eliot_. Yesterday, Eliot had pushed right up to that line until Hardison could feel himself wobbling over it. Hardison sometimes needed Parker to stop him—it turned out Eliot needed Hardison to do the same.

Eliot’s forehead was pinched. He had looked happier when they had been running away from Portland than he did here, safe in their apartment.

Hardison wanted to take whatever was hurting Eliot and wipe it away without Eliot even noticing. He could do it now.

He never would.

Instead, he grabbed his laptop from the floor and propped himself up to type.

Eliot acknowledged him by nudging a plate of blueberry muffins across the floor with his foot.

Hardison snatched one gratefully. “There was baking?”

“You’d sleep through a train wreck.”

“Mmph. This is amazing.” He pulled up his sites and checked on the progress of their fake road trip. They had reached Montreal, confirmed by blurry footage of Parker on an easily-hackable gas station camera.

“You want to help plot our Canada visit?”

“I thought that’s the sort of geek stuff you lived for.”

“It is, I’m just saying, if you want to throw out a suggestion for Canada Eliot, I could make it happen.”

“Moreau is going to see this, right?”

“I’m not leaving my trail of sophisticated cyber breadcrumbs for fairytale orphans.”

Moreau, Moreau, Moreau. He was so tired of feeling the darkness in Eliot associated with that name.

Hardison had a flash of either a terrible or brilliant idea. He almost didn’t say anything. But Eliot looked so strained, and Hardison just wanted him to smile.

“Want to mess with him?” Hardison asked.

Eliot’s eyebrows went up.

“Using Canada Eliot,” Hardison said quickly. “Moreau thinks he knows you, right? Come on, give me something you would never do.”

A tiny glimmer of light in Eliot’s emotions winked at Hardison encouragingly.

It was enough to get him typing. “I think we’ll all go to an art museum together for starters.” He ordered some tickets in Alice White’s name. “You know Parker has never been in a museum in the daytime? The girl can steal, but she does not get art.”

“Then she wouldn’t like jazz.” Eliot’s voice was weirdly rough, but Hardison politely ignored that, along with the tangle of emotions that were clamoring for his attention. Hardison put up his mental shields and concentrated on his tech.

“One jazz concert coming up,” he said. “How about an anime convention, Canada Eliot? There’s one a few blocks from our fake hotel.”

“Come on, man.”

Hardison spun his laptop around to show Eliot pictures. “Last year’s costumes were pretty creative.”

“That is just so—fine, do it. And send him to a baseball game. I hate watching baseball.”

“We’ll all go to the baseball game,” Hardison decided.

“Can you order him tuna for dinner?” Eliot had abandoned his book.

“Absolutely.”

“ _Baked_ tuna,” Eliot said with great distaste.

“Done.”

“And rent him an SUV. Grey.”

“What have you got against grey cars?”

“If you’re going to paint something, you should paint it an actual color, like red or orange. Or blue.”

Eliot working himself up over minutia was a sight equal with happy Parker. Hardison grinned down at his laptop and called up his vehicle database. “You mean something like these?”

“See? Why would someone do that?”

“We may never know.”

Eliot scanned the endless pictures of grey SUVs, and the wrinkle in his forehead was now honest irritation, not pain. “Moreau always wanted me to go to operas with him. It turned into a thing.” He taped a picture of the vehicle he wanted. “Never could get me to go.”

“Well,” Hardison managed, “who wants to spend four hours listening to people gargle in Italian?”

“That’s what I said!”

Hardison would have broken his laptop in half to keep that righteous indignation on Eliot’s face. Fortunately, all that was required was some Googling. “ _Don Giovani_ is playing this weekend. I’ll get a ticket.”

“Three tickets.” Eliot settled back in his chair, and this time, Hardison didn’t try to block the feelings of satisfaction he was getting.

“Okay. Three.”

 

 

* * * *

 

 

Parker returned bearing coffee cups. It was thoughtful enough to be suspicious, and sure enough, when Eliot took a sip, he could barely manage to swallow it.

“Parker! This tastes like you dissolved a chocolate bar in here. What did you do?”

She blinked at him. “Melted a chocolate bar and mixed it in.”

Hardison was drinking happily. “I like it.”

“There’s something wrong with both of you.”

Parker and Hardison loudly defended their choice, but Eliot wasn’t listening to them. He stood, tensed, listening to something else.

There were people walking down the hallway.

Hardison broke off immediately. “What, Eliot?”

He held up a hand, silencing them. He pointed at the door and tapped his ear.

Parker stood coiled beside him, every inch of her powerful. She could stop a bullet, Eliot had no doubt about that.

Hardison stood behind them both. If he had to, he could set someone’s mind on fire. Eliot had no doubt about that either.

The doorknob jiggled. Either someone had copied a key, or they were picking the lock. Eliot moved silently to the side, ready to catch them from behind when they walked in.

The door opened, revealing a man and a woman framed in the doorway—both unarmed.

Parker darted forward at the same time as the woman stretched out her hand.

“Parker!”

“Sophie?”

“Hardison.” This was the man, middle-aged, looking around the apartment in what appeared to be shock.

“Nate,” Hardison said. “Uh, hey man. It’s cool to see you. We were just, you know, keeping an eye on the place while you were away. But I see you’re back now, which is quite an unexpected surprise.”

Eliot didn’t think these people needed killing right this minute. The woman was resting her hand on Parker’s arm and Parker looked happy to see her. They were talking together excitedly.

Eliot fell back to stand just in front of Hardison, in case things went south.

“Oh, we’ve been all over,” the woman was saying. “You should see some of the pieces I picked up in Morocco. There’s this lovely little collar that is all diamonds.”

“I do like diamonds,” Parker agreed.

The woman was entrancing, even just talking with Parker. Her voice was warm, an open invitation to mysteries. She stood like she knew exactly who was looking at her and exactly what they were thinking as they looked.

It was precisely what Eliot had expected of Sophie Devereaux.

The man, on the other hand—he was confusing.

Eliot knew power and he knew control. This man had both.

But he was also standing in the doorway of his own apartment, arguing with Hardison like a football dad.

“You said, and I quote, Nate, ‘Stop by when you’re in the area.’”

“Well, sure, but I didn’t mean you could move in!”

“I sent you an _email!_ ”

Parker was hovering her coffee cup above her palm while Sophie made cooing noises of admiration.

“Hardison, I was a little busy taking down the government of a small island nation.”

“I figured San Lorenzo was you two crazy kids. Nice work on that, by the way.”

It clicked.

“Nathan Ford,” Eliot said, loud enough to cut through Hardison’s chatter.

The man had clearly been as aware of Eliot as Eliot had been of him. He didn’t startle. “Yes?”

Nathan Ford had been on Eliot’s trail once, after a job in Montana. They’d never met, but once, Eliot had left his hotel and seen a red car pulling into the parking lot and had just _known_ it was him. It had been an exhausting eight days.

Nathan Ford wasn’t a psychic—he didn’t have to be.

 “Thought you got out of the game,” Eliot said.

 “Just playing a different side.”

Sophie moved forward, all flowing grace. “And you are? I know Hardison, of course, but Parker didn’t tell me she’d made another friend.”

Her display of delight was flawless, but Eliot had heard stories of her telepathy. People in Moreau’s set used to say that she read people so lightly that most people didn’t even know she was a telepath.

Sophie’s smile became ever so slightly strained.

There it was.

Telepaths and empaths always wore that look when they tried to read him.

“Eliot Spencer,” he said, because Parker had told him that Sophie was her friend, and he had been raised to be polite.

“Pleasure,” she murmured. She shifted back, subtly moving away from him. Nate moved to stand by her side.

“See something you don’t like, sweetheart?” Eliot asked, playing up his accent.

Sophie laughed, but she glanced at Nate in some sort of signal.

“Eliot,” Nate repeated, thoughtfully. His eyes were merciless when he said, “Moreau’s Eliot?”

In the frozen silence that followed, Eliot thought, _Nicely played._

Hardison was protesting. “Now wait a minute—”

“Yeah, there was all kind of buzz when you ran,” Nate continued. “We were in—where were we? Paris?”

“Naples,” Sophie said.

“We were in Naples, and it really threw everyone for a loop. Didn’t it, Sophie?”

“Oh, it did. Every psychic I knew was taking bets on how long it would take him to catch you. You cost me twenty-thousand euros, I’ll have you know.”

Eliot felt that monstrous part of him sit up and take notice of Nate and Sophie’s matching careless expressions. It wanted to do something about that.

“We got out of Europe for a few weeks until Moreau cooled down,” Nate said casually. “Whatever you were providing for him must have been pretty, uh— _exceptional_.”

Eliot was about to slip his monster off its leash when the glass picture frame behind Nate’s head shattered.

“Too many words.”

Parker lifted her hand and the glass floated up off the floor in sharp, individual promises of violence. She had a little smile on her face that looked like a death omen.

Hardison apparently saw the same thing. “Babe, you’re rocking the evil Galadriel look a little hard right now. I’m not saying it’s not hot, but calm down and take a breath.”

Sophie was holding out her hands. “Parker, we didn’t mean it, I promise. We had to be sure he wasn’t still working with Moreau, that’s all.”

A piece of glass flipped lazily to hover level with Nate’s left eye. Nate held very still.

Eliot knew Parker was waiting for him to make up his mind.

Defining choices came at unexpected times. Fortunately, he had gotten good at spotting them. Eliot’s monster wasn’t needed here—Eliot was.

 “I don’t do that anymore,” he said to Nate.

“We had to be sure. Sophie, are we sure?”

Sophie couldn’t seem to look away from the glass. “Yes.”

Parker had lost her creepy smile. All that was left was steel. “Eliot is _ours_.”

Everything inside Eliot surged forward in agreement.

Nate’s voice was amused when he said, “I can see that he is.”

Hardison made a distressed noise. “You can’t say stuff like that about people.” He glared at Eliot. “Stop encouraging her.”

Eliot’s body felt electric.  “Why did you come here, Ford?”

“Someone was in my apartment. It tripped the alarm, and I thought it might be getting robbed—”

“You’re lying,” Hardison said.

The shards of glass circled a little closer. Sophie flapped her hand in protest.

“Fine,” Nate said. “I got Hardison’s email. I heard about Portland. And I deduced that the world’s best thief and hacker were camped out in my Boston apartment with Eliot Spencer, so I came to offer you a job.”

“We have our own jobs,” Parker said flatly. “We don’t have time for yours.”

“Even if my job is taking down Damien Moreau?”

Nate and Parker stared at each other for seven endless seconds. Eliot was a gun, ready for either her finger on the trigger or her thumb on the safety.

“Three days from now,” Nate said, “he’s auctioning off something called the Ram’s Horn and he’s coming to Boston to do it.”

The shards of glass fell into a neat pile at Nate’s feet.

Thumb on the safety it was.

 

* * * *

 

 

“I can’t believe you threatened Nate.” Sophie pushed some empty soda bottles off the table and sat in Hardison’s spot. “You and I are friends!”

“I know,” Parker said. “I didn’t threaten _you_.”

“It’s okay, Sophie.” Nate had claimed the head of the table, all cleverness. Parker could practically see the little planning spiders spinning their webs inside his brain.

Nate had almost caught her once, in a bank outside Arlington. She’d kicked him in the knee and ran. He’d been smart enough to figure out her entrance, so she hadn’t kicked him in the face.

“Is it weird, working with the enemy?” Parker asked Sophie, interestedly.

Sophie wasn’t really mad at her. Parker knew by the secret smile she let Parker see. “That’s the funny thing about working with your enemy. If you do it long enough, and they start becoming something else.”

“Touching.” Hardison, however, really was mad. At Nate.

That was okay, she was mad at Nate too.

Parker used her powers to shove a chair next to Eliot’s. Her knee knocked against his when she flung herself down. Nate’s words had shaken up her insides. They had shown her a part of Eliot that wasn’t the part she knew, and she needed confirmation of him.

“We were out of line,” Sophie said. Sophie was nice, which was why Parker had stood there like a stuffed panda toy and let her say those things to Eliot. Parker hadn’t realized that Sophie was grifting until it was too late.

“Damn right you were,” Hardison said. He had taken Eliot’s usual place, the chair beside Sophie.

“It was smart,” Eliot said. “It was a good way to get an honest read.”

Sophie winced, which made Parker feel a little better. It was a real Sophie expression. “I’m sorry that it was necessary, but you are Eliot Spencer. And Parker is my friend.”

Eliot nodded.

“Learn anything interesting, Sophie?” Nate asked. “Was I right?”

“For heaven’s sake, don’t you know the meaning of the word tact?” Sophie leaned across the table to Parker. “He’s always like this.”

“Yes, he is,” Hardison said. He was very committed to his mission of Glaring At Nate. Parker was impressed.

Nate rolled his eyes. “Okay, I’ll admit it, we were a little out of line. But, Hardison, I’m trying to take down one of the criminal underworld’s largest psychic players. It’s not all going to be all orange soda and hot pockets.”

“Talk about the plan,” Parker ordered.

“First, we need to know if there is a plan. Sophie. Was I right?”

“Yes,” Sophie groaned. “Yes, you were right. You’re always right and it’s annoying.”

“Right about what?” Eliot asked. His voice made his body vibrate, just a little, when he talked. Parker pressed her knee harder into his leg to feel it.

“You. I had some theories about what Moreau might have done, and—”

Parker made her eyes into angry slits.

“Ah. Well. Sophie will explain.”

Sophie frowned. “She most certainly will not.”

Nate ran his hand through his fluffy hair, messing it further. “Maybe Eliot and I should talk alone first.”

Hardison tapped his finger on the table, getting Eliot’s attention. He had a questioning face. 

Eliot’s eyes flicked to Hardison’s and caught there for just a moment. Parker had seen enough of their empath expressions lately to know what they had done.

“We want to know now,” Hardison said.

“You probably don’t.” Nate sighed. “Look, it’s like this. If given enough time, powerful psychics can change the landscape of their victim’s mind.”

Eliot snorted. “You think?”

Nate ignored him. Parker knew that look. He was working the problem. “Each psychic does it differently and gives it their own unique flavor. It’s their individual mark. In the psychic community, each mark is easily recognizable. It’s used to identify the psychic’s assets so others know to stay away.”

“Like calling dibs,” Parker said.

“Like branding.” Eliot was doing that holding still thing that he did when things were bad inside his head. Parker kicked his ankle. He didn’t pay attention.

“Eliot’s got Moreau’s mark, doesn’t he?” Hardison asked.

“Honestly, I’m amazed you didn’t notice,” Sophie said, gently.

“I noticed that his mind was like ground zero, but I didn’t know it was some kind of—of _signature._ ”

“Makes sense,” Eliot muttered. “Things other psychics used to say. Chapman.”

Parker kicked his ankle again, hard enough to make him notice her. “Hey,” she told him. “Dibs.”

Hardison stretched his long legs out under the table and tapped his foot to Eliot’s. “Dibs,” he said.

“The way Moreau threw a fit, I figured it had to be something like that.” Nate actually looked sorry for the first time. “I just needed Sophie to make sure.”

“Why does it matter to you?” Eliot asked. There was nothing in his voice.

“Because if we’re going to run a fiddle game on Damien Moreau, we need a fiddle of solid gold.”

 “I’m not turning my gold into a fiddle,” Parker said. “That makes no sense.”

Sophie was getting into it. “You won’t have to. Eliot is the fiddle.”

“What _fiddle_?”

“Come on, guys, think,” Nate urged them. “How do you take down Damien Moreau?”

“Use a very big bomb,” Hardison said.

“Steal something,” Parker said.

“You don’t,” Eliot said.

Nate looked pleased. “Yes. That is all exactly right.”

 

* * * *

 

Hardison knew he was not a humble man—pretty far from it, actually. He was gifted, alright? He knew exactly how good he was, and he wasn’t afraid to bring that to people’s attention when they weren’t appreciating him properly.

So when he cornered Nate privately and said, “I can’t do it,” Hardison was pretty damn sure he wasn’t being modest.

“It won’t be real, Hardison,” Nate said, mildly.

“No, I mean I actually _can’t_ do it. I’m not a grifter! Get Sophie.”

“I need her working our other angle.”

“I am telling you, I cannot physically do what you’re asking me to do.”

Nate nodded to where Eliot and Parker were still sitting at the kitchen table, close together. “She cares about him.”

“What? Man, I’m trying to talk to you about the con.”

“From what I know of Parker, that’s rare.”

Hardison threw up his hands. “Fine! Yes, it is.”

“And you. You seem more focused. Grounded.” Nate reevaluated. “Well, maybe not right now, but in general.”

“What’s your point?”

Nate put a steadying hand on his shoulder. “You can do it. To take down Moreau, you can do it.”

 

 

 

Eliot, of course, was onboard, steamrolling any objections. It was like training all over again, except this time the stakes were miles higher. He wanted this to work with more desperation than Hardison had ever felt from him.

And dammit, Nate was right. To get Moreau out of Eliot’s head, Hardison would do anything.

So now they were starting on phase one: giving Hardison a dark side image makeover.

“Moreau has to think you’re powerful enough to be taken seriously, but not so powerful that you’re an actual threat.” Nate was fussing around the apartment, righting overturned knickknacks. “Remember, the whole point is to arrange a meeting. We need him to negotiate with you, not try to kill you.”

“Comforting,” Hardison said. He had booted up all his computers for this. Eliot was leaning against the wall, watching over Hardison’s shoulder from a distance. “I feel real comforted by that, Nate. Why am I friends with you, again?”

“Because I made you in Tulsa and let you walk away.”

“Excuse me? I think ‘let’ is a little strong of a word.”

“No it isn’t,” Nate said.

Hardison actually liked Nate, when he wasn’t being an asshole. The man was scary smart and surprisingly kind. He’d reached out to Hardison a few years back when he’d started working with Sophie, doing their Robin Hood stuff. Hardison had freelanced a few jobs with them when they were in the States. It was always a rush, working with Nate. But then Parker had shown up, and he’d had all the excitement he needed for three lifetimes.

“Where does Moreau think you are now?” Nate asked.

“Canada,” Hardison said. “Wait, is it after five already? Okay, he thinks we’re in an opera house in Canada.”

“Good. I need you to cut Parker loose and then make your way back to Boston over the next several days with Eliot.”

“Piece of cake.”

A spoon flew out of nowhere and rapped Hardison on the head. “Hey!” It hit him again.

“Cut it out, Parker,” Eliot said.

Parker pointed at Hardison menacingly before going back to whatever conversation she was having with Sophie. The spoon dropped to the table beside Hardison’s keyboard.

Nate’s attention shifted to Eliot. Hardison wished it wouldn’t. He could feel how tense Eliot was—it was cracking in the air around him.

“Where should I send fake Parker?” Hardison asked, quickly.

“Let her trail get cold in Montreal,” Nate said. “Moreau will believe that. The important thing is to keep you two on his radar and keep him interested.”

“I could file a few police reports of robberies. Hey Eliot, you want to rob a jewelry store? Oh! Or I could fake an evidence report that puts us at a scene of a murder. Yeah, I could do that. Do we want suspicious car accident or no-question-about-it homicide?”

“Focus,” Eliot growled at him. “We don’t need any of that stuff. Put us in the same hotel room. That’ll keep him interested.”

“What, seriously?”

“Just do it, Hardison.”

“I’m supposed to be Evil Empath Hardison, not a bro on a road trip with his buddy.”

“That,” said Eliot, “is not what Moreau will be thinking.”

“Oh.”

Crap like this was why Hardison was going to ruin the plan.

They needed information that Moreau only carried with him. Moreau was famously impossible to access, preferring to let others do the dirty work while he managed from the shadows. If anything was going to lure him out of hiding, it would be the sight of another empath laying claim to his marked and missing asset.

“I know this is difficult for you to imagine,” Nate was saying, “but empaths are usually subtle. We’re not trying to make you a mob boss, we’re trying to convince Moreau that you’re controlling Eliot.”

“I told you, I’m not good at this!”

Hardison was also painfully aware that he was not a badass anywhere outside the internet. At his center, he was a gooey and sweet chocolate muffin, and he was _not made for this role._

Hardison kept mistyping words.

“I think we’ve done all we can do for today.” Sophie drifted over and put her hand on Nate’s arm. “I’m tired. Let’s go.”

“You’re not saying here?” Parker asked.

Sophie managed to convey her gratitude and horror at the suggestion in a single wave of her hand. “Oh no. We have a place downtown. After all, we have our own cover to establish.”

Nate looked despairingly around at his apartment. “Hardison, Parker, keep doing your research.”

Sophie nudged him. “They know.”

Nate raised his voice as Sophie practically pushed him through the doorway. “We’ll be in touch!”

When the door closed behind them, the apartment seemed to let out its breath. Parker cast herself into an armchair and threw her arm over her face. “Too many people.”

“You didn’t end up stabbing anyone,” Hardison said. “Good for you.”

“Thanks.”

Eliot tipped his head back against the wall, looking as exhausted as Parker sounded.

There was no time for Hardison to be exhausted. If he didn’t want to screw this up, he needed to do what Nate said and research. Hardison tuned out the others and immersed himself in his tech.

Online, Moreau was a ghost, but after lots of digging, Hardison found traces of him in whispers: a man who was charming, so charming, and would smile as he ripped your mind open.

Moreau was going to take one look at Hardison and see right through their lie. And he and Eliot would both die, and Parker would die, and Sophie and Nate would be in the wind…

Hardison’s keyboard slipped out of his reach. It took him a second to realize it was because Eliot was dragging his chair away from the table, not because it was a perfect metaphor for his current situation.

“Enough,” Eliot said.

“I’m not done,” Hardison protested.

“It’s one o’clock in the morning. You’re done for now.”

Hardison rolled his shoulders. He felt like he hadn’t moved in hours—which he probably hadn’t. “I’m not tired.”

“Who said anything about sleeping?”

There was a malicious anticipation coming from Eliot that actually made Hardison tear his eyes away from his screens.

Eliot was dressed in exercise gear—sweatpants, a loose t-shirt, and running shoes. He looked very determined.

“Put on something you can run in,” Eliot said.

“Um, I’m sorry, but why would I do that?”

“Because we’re going for a run.”

“ _You_ can go for a run. I will continue to sit here and try to think of a way not to get us all horribly killed.”

Eliot’s strong hand grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him out of his chair like Hardison was a child.

Hardison stumbled to his feet. “Okay, okay, I’m going! Where’s Parker? Why aren’t you making her do this?”

“I didn’t need to. She went out an hour ago with her climbing harness.”

Eight minutes later, Hardison somehow found himself out on the sidewalk, scrambling after Eliot as he led them in some sort of death marathon.

After the forth block, Hardison decided that he wouldn’t even be upset when he messed up and got Eliot killed, because Eliot was a sadist who deserved it.

After the eighth block, Hardison wasn’t thinking about anything other than his legs and his poor, wheezing lungs.

Eliot bullied him up and down endless streets, some bustling with nightlife, others quiet and residential. The burn in Hardison’s body had become all-consuming and, for lack of a better option, Hardison surrendered to it. For the first time since Nate had shown up, his mind felt quiet.

Eventually, Eliot looped them back to the apartment. Hardison staggered up the stairs, gasping. Eliot shoved him toward the bathroom, face unreadable. “Shower.”

Hardison could have shaken off the fog that was covering his brain to see what Eliot was feeling, but he didn’t want to.

Instead, he took a shower.

When he emerged, clean and already sore, the apartment smelled like grilled cheese.

Hardison sank into the soft cushions of the couch and moaned when Eliot slapped a plate down on the coffee table. “This is my holy grail of comfort foods. How did you know?”

Eliot walked back into the kitchen without looking at him. “Lucky guess.”

Hardison ate the sandwich so fast he barely had time to appreciate it. Ah well. Someday, he would get Eliot to make him another.

At the moment, Hardison felt too wrung out to do anything, but he knew he had to. The pleasant haze was evaporating under the lights of the apartment. His computers were leering at him. Hardison wrinkled his nose at them. He knew he needed to work, okay? He was getting up any second. There was no need for attitude.

Eliot emerged from the kitchen and frowned. “Dammit, Hardison.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Hardison protested. “I’m just sitting here.”

“You’re thinking.”

“We’re plotting against Damien Moreau, Eliot. Thinking is not an irrational response. Neither is panicking. In fact, I can’t believe you’re not panicking. I mean, out of all of us—”

Hardison didn’t finish his thought. Eliot knew his own history.

“Fear can keep you alive, but panic never helps. You’ve got to shut it down.”

“I can’t. My brain is like a high speed processor with extra memory and an amazing firewall. Ain’t nothing shutting this down tonight.” Hardison meant it as a joke, but it came out sounding bleak.

“Lie down.”

“I have work—”

“I will tie you to that couch if I have to.” Eliot advanced with a truly frightening amount of intention.

Hardison stretched himself out on his back, Eliot looming over him. “You’re as bad as my nanna. Being horizontal doesn’t turn off my brain.”

In one smooth motion, Eliot sank to his knees beside the couch. He’d let his hair down while Hardison was in the shower. Coupled with the comfy clothes he was wearing, he looked softer than he usually did. Like someone at home.

Hardison couldn’t help smiling at him.

“Shut up,” Eliot muttered. He circled Hardison’s wrist with loose fingers and closed his eyes.

Hardison wasn’t proud of the noise he made—but he was in shock, okay?

Eliot was extending an invitation for Hardison to come inside his head. Not for training. Not to give Parker a good dream.

A quick skim read of Eliot’s mind found nothing but a warm, gentle _want._

Hardison brushed Eliot’s mind with his own, lightly enough not to change was Eliot was feeling, just enough to say, _here I am, hi, it’s me._

From a distance, Hardison felt Eliot’s other hand come to rest on his arm.

Hardison closed his eyes and let himself sink into it.

 

 

* * * *

 

When Hardison fell asleep, he slipped out of Eliot’s mind. Eliot drifted back to awareness slowly, following the warmth of Hardison’s arm under his hands.

He knew Parker was in the room before he opened his eyes. He desperately hoped that his subconscious had classified her as a non-threat, and not that he had been too far gone to ignore someone climbing through their window.

“I can never get him to do that,” she said, too loud.

Eliot opened his eyes to find her leaning over the back of the couch. “Quiet.”

Parker made a guilty face and set her climbing harness down gently. “Boston has a lot of skyscrapers,” she whispered. “I climbed two of them to figure out what I think about using you as bait.”

“And?”

“It’s the best plan. I think I’m okay with it.”

“Good. Why did you bring the harness?”

“My powers are running low,” Parker said. “Need to recharge. I’m going to get espresso, you want one?”

Eliot’s mind might be a mess, but at least he knew how to tend to his body properly, unlike these two. “You don’t need caffeine, you need sleep.”

Parker looked at him distrustfully. “I don’t think that’s right.”

“It’s right.” Eliot stood and stepped away from Hardison. He bumped Parker’s shoulder gently with his own, pushing her towards the staircase. “Go to bed.”

“I will if you will.” Parker said it triumphantly. She knew he didn’t really sleep.

“Fine,” he said, and let himself enjoy the way her face fell as he led the way up the stairs.

Parker didn’t know that her words to Nate had sunk deep, deep inside him and taken root.

(If he could be theirs, maybe they could be his.)

(If they were his, he was damn well going to take care of them.)

Moreau was coming to Boston and Eliot was going to surrender himself to him. Two weeks ago, he wouldn’t have believed that he could hold that knowledge and feel content. But he was. Things were going to get bad, but they weren’t bad right now.

Now, he had Parker at his back and echoes of Hardison in his head. They were coming into battle with him.

The upstairs room was barely big enough for the two beds Hardison had managed to wedge inside. Parker turned on the little light on the dresser between the beds and watched him closely, like they were playing a game of chicken.

Eliot kicked off his shoes and socks, making the action a silent dare.

Parker growled and took hers off as well. Admitting defeat, she claimed the bed closest to the window.

Eliot stripped off his shirt and threw it in the hamper. Parker was there, but honestly, of all the people he knew, Parker was probably the safest person to get half-naked around. It didn’t mean the same thing with her that it meant with other people.

“Where’d you get them?” Parker asked. She was curled on top of the blankets, watching him with interest.

“The scars,” she clarified. “Tell me. I want a bedtime story.”

Seriously, sometimes he couldn’t believe this was his life. “No. What are you, three?”

“I hate sleeping,” Parker said with unexpected vehemence. “It’s dark and lonely and my brain runs in circles.”

“You slept for two hours yesterday afternoon.”

“That was napping. Napping is different.”

Really, Eliot understood. There was a reason he lived on catnaps for days at a time. Parker might process things differently than most people, but that didn’t mean she still couldn’t get upset.

Eliot touched the circular scar on his left shoulder. “Myanmar 2003,” he said. “Sniper.”

Parker wiggled contentedly, settling in. “Did they mean to miss?”

“Hell no. That guy was out for my blood. Barely made it out.”

“What else?”

Bemused, Eliot looked down at himself. His scars were something he had stopped seeing a lot time ago. They were part of him, things he wouldn’t get rid of even if he could.

“Basic training,” he said, pointing to a thin red line on his right upper arm. “They really do make you crawl through razor wire.”

“I saw that in a movie once.”

“Nasty stuff.”

“Ankles?”

The matching shiny rings of scars were from a set of chains in a North Korean hellhole. It wasn’t a pretty story.

“Ice skate rentals a size too small.”

Parker laughed, and he hid his smile by climbing under his sheet. He lay on his side to face her in the soft, dim light.

Other women had asked about his scars. Maybe it should have put him off balance to have a similar conversation with Parker, but the gulf between her gleeful questions and his bedmates’ breathless attention was unbridgeable. It was like he had two different sets of scars—one for Parker here in this moment, and one for everyone else.

“My buddy had this hamster growing up,” he said. “Damn thing bit me and left a mark on my thumb.”

Parker laughed again. “Is that a real story?”

“Yeah, that one’s true.”

Silence drifted between them for a while. Eliot flipped on his back and gazed lazily at the ceiling.

“I have one from the Louvre,” Parker said, her voice easy and slow. “Air duct had an exposed edge that caught me right on my ribs. Got the painting, though.”

“Which one?”

“Girl with a Pearl Earring.”

“Isn’t that on display now?”

“Not the real one. Don’t tell.”

“Who am I going to tell, Parker?”

“No one. I just said.”

Parker yawned, and it was contagious. Eliot’s was so huge it made his eyes water.

“Sleep isn’t so bad since we moved here,” Parker said. And the next time Eliot looked over, she was asleep.

Sometimes, he couldn’t believe this was his life.

 

* * * *

 

“Tell me about the vault,” Nate’s voice said in her ear.

Wind whipped against Parker’s face. She clapped her hand to her earpiece and raised her voice. “Everyone knows about Moreau’s vaults. He has two. His American vault is here in Boston.”

“They say it reads your emotions.” Sophie sounded as excited as Parker felt. “And that it’s coded to recognize only Moreau.”

“It is.” That was Eliot.

“It needs a retinal scan and a rolling passcode that’s sent only to Moreau and is valid for sixty minutes. They say he never lets the token out of his sight.”

“He doesn’t,” Eliot said.

“Parker?” Nate asked.

“Looks grumpy from the outside.”

Parker had found a nice little perch in the building across from Moreau’s vault. It was a sturdy stone building with lots of barred windows.

“Getting in will be a piece of cake. Especially now that I can punch people.”

“Good. Eliot will get you the retinal scan and Hardison will get you the code. You can take it from there, right?”

“Oh yeah.”

“I can do that, assuming the code is transmitted when I am actually in the room with him. It’s not a phone I can hack, man. It’s a closed system. I need to be in the room with that thing.”

“Not exactly,” Nate said. “Your phone needs to be in the room.”

Eliot said. “Turn here.”

“I’m turning, I’m turning. Traffic cam on the right. Smile.”

“I want to watch Eliot hit people,” Parker said. This building was high, but not high enough to make up for missing out.

“If you run, you might be in time to catch the end,” Hardison said.

“Nate? I’ve sketched the floorplan and counted the guards and everything else.”

“We’re coming down to the wire here, Parker. The Ram’s Horn is in that vault and we need it.”

“We’ll get it,” Parker said.

“Then go,” Nate said, a sigh gusting through the comms. “Do not let Moreau’s men see you.”

Parker made sure no one was watching and stepped off the back of the building.

Falling. There was nothing better. It was better than chocolate espresso, better than diamonds.

This plan was complicated, but in a good way. There was the bit with Eliot and Hardison as distractions, there was the bit where they got the vault passcode and retinal scan, and there was the bit where Parker stole whatever the Ram’s Horn was. There was another big bit where Nate and Sophie were messing with people’s heads, but that wasn’t her job.

Her job right now was getting to the docks in time to see Eliot fight.

The vault wasn’t really that far from the complex of warehouses where Moreau stored less important items. Especially when she used her powers as a little extra boost. Eliot and Hardison were going to make a statement, Nate said. Parker didn’t think there would be much time for talking, the way Eliot did things.

“Don’t start without me, don’t start without me!”

“Shut up, Parker.”

She scaled the main arm of a large crane that someone had abandoned. Her fingers curled securely into the sharp metal and her powers pressed her close. She got out her binoculars and scanned the docks for Hardison and Eliot’s grey SUV.

“Found you,” she said. They had just stepped out of the car. “Hardison, you look different in a suit.”

“Good different?” he asked.

“Stay in character,” Nate said sharply. “For all we know, Moreau is recording this.”

Hardison stood loose and open, looking completely at his ease. Eliot was the opposite—all tight and ready to pounce, his arms folded across his chest. He was standing a little behind Hardison’s right shoulder, like he was going to stop anyone from touching him.

They looked nice like that.

“You’ve got company,” Parker warned, tracking a group of five hired muscle as they emerged from the building.

Hardison had wanted to use an accent, but Nate wouldn’t let him. So it was just his normal voice in Parker’s ear saying, “I hope you have facial recognition software scoping the traffic cams. It’s going to be boring if I have to explain who we are.”

“Moreau has been looking for you,” one of the men said. “Come with us.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so. I’m here to give you a message for your boss. I’ve got stuff to do.” Hardison turned to Eliot. “Spencer.”

The name sounded wrong in his mouth.

Eliot stepped forward, letting the side of his body press against Hardison in a way he never did in real life. Hardison laid his hand on the back of Eliot’s neck, and Eliot stopped like Hardison had paralyzed him. Parker thought Hardison should probably stop doing that.

“I need them to be able to talk,” Hardison said. “Anything else is optional.”

“Yes,” Eliot said.

Hardison removed his hand.

It was like watching a building crumble, seeing that group of men fall under Eliot’s hands. It was what she’d come to watch, but Parker wasn’t having fun anymore. Eliot’s fighting was on her list of Always Good Things—and it _was_ good. It was just that everything that had come before it made her stomach feel twisty.

Eliot slammed the last man against the SUV and held him there as Hardison approached. The whole thing had only taken five minutes.

Hardison put a hand on the man’s forehead, the way he did to her when she was resting her head in his lap about to fall asleep.

The man _screamed_.

Parker heard Hardison choke on a breath in her earpiece. But when he spoke, his voice was as cold as the metal under her fingers. Through her earpiece, his words sounded close and personal.

“How terrified you’re feeling right now? That’s nothing compared to how you’ll feel if you don’t give Moreau my message. Nod if you understand.”

“Please, please—”

“Tell Moreau exactly what happened here. I have something that belongs to him and I’m open to negotiations. I’ll bring Spencer to the Balagio Hotel tomorrow at three. If Moreau is interested, he can meet me with one member of his security team. If not, I’ll keep leading his trackers on a chase across North America and Spencer stays exactly where he is.” Hardison’s hand went back to Eliot’s neck, where Parker didn’t think it should be.

The picture dug up a memory from a time she didn’t like to think about. It wasn’t the same. But it was similar enough to make her stomach flip again.

Eliot let Hardison guide him back, dropping the man to the ground. A quick sweep of Parker’s binoculars showed that everyone’s attention was fixed on the two of them. Eliot hadn’t beat up the other guys too badly—most of them were still conscious and able to focus.

“I know Moreau is a trustworthy associate, which is why this hasn’t been messier. That being said, any sign of someone tailing me and we’re gone.” Hardison pushed Eliot toward the front of the SUV. “Drive.”

They both got into the vehicle and drove away. No one followed them.

Nate’s voice started to say, “Good work, Hardi—”

Parker took out her comm.

 

 

 

Parker stayed outside the apartment for a long time. She told herself it was because she was watching for Moreau’s spies, but Moreau did what Eliot had said he would do and stayed away.

She didn’t understand. If someone had been holding Hardison or Eliot, Parker would have burnt every building in Boston down until she had them back.

Sophie and Nate left, but Parker didn’t call down to them from her rooftop perch. She kept hearing Nate’s pleased voice: _Good work._

Watching Hardison hadn’t felt good.

It had felt like being eleven years old.

She gave the boys some extra time to themselves before using her powers to vault through one of the bedroom windows.

“It’s me,” she called, shutting it behind her.

Eliot and Hardison were watching sports. They had each claimed chairs on opposite sides of the room.

“Nice of you to show up,” Eliot said.

“I told you I was doing recon,” Parker said.

“Like, four hours ago!” Hardison protested.

Parker moved quickly, before he could get away. She pounced on Hardison, kneeling on his lap and pinning him against the back of the chair.

“Oof! What the _hell?_ ”

Parker brought her face close and peered hard at him, trying to find that coldness from before. She wanted to dig it out of him like a splinter.

Hardison looked normal—all concern and softness. Well, he also looked nervous. And sort of squished. And sort of something else that she didn’t really get.

“Um, hello,” he said, like she was pressing the air from his lungs.

“I want us to leave,” she said. Their noses bumped together.

“Huh?”

“I don’t like this job anymore. Let’s go to Florida and see those little burrowing owls.”

Hardison drew back. “We can’t leave now. We just tipped over the first domino. You know how hard it is to stop a line of dominos? Those suckers can really move.”

Parker pushed herself off him and stalked around the living room. “Fine. Then we have a new plan. You both come with me to steal the Ram’s Horn.”

“Parker, what—? You know what won’t work.”

“I don’t care. I don’t want to do this job!”

“You mean you don’t want me and Hardison to do it,” Eliot said. He was paying very close attention to her, and Parker didn’t think she liked the understanding in his face.

Parker threw up her hands. She didn’t _know_ what she meant.

“Don’t be worried about us,” Hardison said. He looked like he thought she was funny. “Did you notice how hard we rocked out there? I didn’t think I could do it, but Nate was right. It all fell together. Acting, man, that’s what I’m talking about.”

Eliot told her, “It’s not real, you get that, right?”

They both needed her words. She gave them all the ones she had.

“But it was real. Hardison pushed scared feelings into that man. Eliot was all frozen inside his head. During training I could tell you to stop, but I can’t this time because I’m not there, and I don’t like watching you hurt each other.”

They both looked really surprised.

“You were frozen?” Hardison asked Eliot.

Eliot glared at them. “No. Are you going to start pushing feelings into everyone?”

“No!”

“Then there we go,” Eliot said.

They weren’t taking her seriously.

On the couch, a pillow exploded in a mess of fluffy white stuffing.

“Oh, Nate’s gonna kill you,” Hardison said, batting some fluff out of the air.

“You’re a menace, Parker.”

They hadn’t seen it from the outside. They didn’t know. Parker darted forward and rested one hand on the back of Eliot’s neck and the other to the side of his face. There was a moment of perfect stillness, and Parker tightened her grip.

Eliot ripped himself out of her hands. He had always been so careful with her, even during sparring, but now he shoved her backwards so hard she fell, sprawled out on the floor.

She could have caught herself, but she was making a point _._

“ _Parker_ ,” Eliot said, strangled.

“Neither of you noticed,” she said, picking herself up. “It gave me a stomachache.”

“Damn,” Hardison said.

Eliot looked a little stunned, like she’d tasered him.

“A couple new entries for the Always Bad list,” Hardison said, finally understanding what she was trying to get them to talk about.

 _“Yes._ ”

“We probably should have done that a long time ago.”

“ _Yes_.”

“Parker has lists,” Hardison told Eliot. “Chocolate is Always Good. So is Christmas. I added orange soda and Nanna.”

“And watching Eliot fight.”

“That’s the latest addition.” Hardison wasn’t smiling. Parker stood near his chair and patted his shoulder to let him know she wasn’t angry now that he was actually getting it.

“Sometimes Bad: tickling and horses.”

“Cotton sheets,” Hardison said. “Smelling new paint.”

Eliot still looked like he had no idea what was going on. He looked partially inside his head. Parker said, “Hair pulling is Always Bad.”

“Throwing things during an argument,” Hardison said, dropping his eyes.

“Doctor labs.”

“Closets.”

“Watching people hurt each other even when they don’t want to. And there’s this man, and he says, ‘Good practice.’ Every day before lunch.”

Parker hadn’t thought about the other kids in the holding centers for a while. She’d been too happy. It was impossible to hold a memory of the crying and the whispered apologies inside of her along with the memory of falling asleep listening to Eliot’s voice. They shouldn’t belong inside the same person.

Hardison held out his arms to her and she went. This time, she was gentle when she wiggled her way onto the chair with him. She didn’t always want to be touched when she was upset—but right now, Hardison’s familiar arms around her were exactly what she needed to keep the memory away.

“I didn’t realize,” Hardison said quietly.

“I didn’t either,” Parker admitted. “Not until I saw it. It was just like in the centers.”

“No, it’s not.” Eliot finally said something. “Hardison and I have a choice. You didn’t.”

“I can’t stop you,” Parker said. “And neither of you know when you’re pretending to be hurt or really hurt.”

Hardison hummed in his puzzle-solving way. “Maybe we need a code word. One that means stop.”

Parker twisted around to look at him. “That’s a thing?”

“Sure.”

Eliot was making a face. “Hardison, you’re talking about a—”

“I know, I know. But she put what we’re doing on the Always Bad list. We either fix it or we walk away.”

“Those are the rules,” Parker explained.

Telling Hardison about the lists had been one of the first times Parker opened up to him at all. She’d known it wasn’t normal. He’d seemed to think it was okay, though. He’d been the one to add “fix it” to the rules.

“Something we can say in a conversation but that we’ll notice,” Hardison said. She liked the way his planning voice made his chest rumble.

“Chocolate espresso,” Eliot muttered.

“Yes,” Parker said immediately. “Perfect.”

Eliot avoided their eyes. “Maybe then you’ll stop obsessing about it.”

“Not likely,” Hardison said. He was nice and warm all around her. Parker pressed herself tighter against him.

Eliot was right, this was different. This was a choice. And they could choose to stop it.

“Okay?” Hardison asked.

“I think so. We need to add touching Eliot’s face to Always Bad.”

Hardison was staring pointedly at Eliot. “Apparently we do. Since _someone_ who shall remain nameless but has long hair and a bad attitude didn’t mention it himself.”

Eliot shifted in his chair. They would all be more comfortable on the couch, together. “Didn’t realize.”

“What else do you want to add?” Parker had to know everything. Eliot had told her not to ask about what Moreau and Chapman had done to him, so she hadn’t. He’d never said not to ask about his lists.

Eliot bit his laugh off at the end. “Anything that would go on that list, you don’t do.”

“Evil Empath Hardison might,” Hardison said. Parker wanted to give him a high five. “By accident.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Don’t tell us why,” Parker said. “I never tell Hardison why. Just what.”

“Our relationship in a nutshell,” Hardison said, but he squeezed her to let her know he was just kidding.

 “Fine.” Eliot got aggressive all the sudden, like that first day, when they were testing each other back and forth. Parker focused, dimming out the rest of the world—even Hardison—to concentrate. Whatever was coming was going to be important, and you weren’t allowed to retake tests like this.

“Complimenting my empath paradise brain goes on the list.” Eliot was sitting up painfully straight, hands on his knees, looking ready to fight.

“Yeah, no,” Hardison said. “Pretty sure I’ve never done that. Your brain is horrifying.”

Parker elbowed him to shut him up.

Fortunately, Eliot kept going. “Some psychics can use their powers to pin people’s minds down and hold them open while they do readings. So, that.”

Hardison sucked in a breath, probably to shout about how bad that was. Parker talked first. “Okay. Next.”

Eliot’s fingers started tapping on his knees. That’s how Parker knew this one deserved a place at the top of the list. “Don’t let—You might not have a choice, but if you can help it—” Eliot broke off, a weird, mocking smile on his face. He shook his head and made his next word steadier. “Sharing.”

That made sense.

“Sorry, I’m lost,” Hardison said, baffled. “Sharing what?”

“Me.”

It had happened at the holding centers—sometimes one guard had a psychic that another guard wanted, and so maybe the guard would share with his buddy on a special occasion. She hadn’t thought about Eliot like that, because Eliot was strong and not a kid. But the last two days had reminded her that their Eliot wasn’t the Eliot he had always been.

Well, he was their Eliot now.

Parker slipped out of Hardison’s lax arms and padded over to Eliot’s chair to sit in front of him on the floor.

Eliot tucked his feet underneath his chair so they weren’t touching her.

“I would break their legs with my powers,” she said. “Then when they were distracted, I’d tase them. Between the pain and the electricity, they would black out pretty fast.”

Hardison’s voice was shaking with what she could only assume was anger. “I would send them away screaming, Eliot. You know I could.”

 “It wasn’t what you’re thinking,” Eliot said. He sounded very calm now.

“Yes, it was,” Hardison said. “Whatever happened or didn’t, it was.”

Parker reached up to touch the razor wire scar on Eliot’s bicep. She knew the stories behind his body, and she wanted him to remember that she liked it anyway.

Eliot blocked her hand with a controlled, precise movement she recognized from sparing. Parker tried to duck her hand under his, but he was too fast and blocked her again.

“Stop,” he said.

Frustrated, Parker tried to touch him again. “It will make you feel better.”

“Parker,” Eliot said roughly. “ _No_.”

She finally got a good look at his face, which told her this was a chocolate espresso level of stop.

Parker scooted herself away from him until she felt Hardison’s legs press against her back. “Sorry.” She wrapped her arms around her knees so he knew she wouldn’t do it again.

That seemed to be the thing that signaled the end of the test. Parker knew they had passed by the way Eliot eased back in his chair and said, “Maybe later.”

It hadn’t been such a hard test after all.

 

 

* * * *

 

No one even suggested going to bed that night. Eliot baked scones while Hardison and Parker played rounds of “I Would Live Forever” that always ended with everyone living forever. As it got later, they migrated to the couch and Hardison started up his list of Disney movies. Parker had never seen one, and Eliot found _Peter Pan_ giving him flashbacks to being six and pretending to fight pirates, so he didn’t complain.

During _Robin Hood_ , Eliot let himself drift while Parker and Hardison argued about the logistics of kissing the jewels off someone’s rings. By the time he opened his eyes again, _The Lion King_ was playing. Hardison was slumped against his shoulder, eyes closed, and Parker had stretched herself on top of both of them with her head in Eliot’s lap. Apparently they’d taken his raincheck on touching seriously and had come to collect.

These people.

Eliot let himself block everything out for just a few minutes and concentrate on the warm weight of their bodies pressing against him.

These competent, beautiful _morons_.

Eliot didn’t know if he was going to be alive at this time tomorrow. More importantly, alive and still in control of his head and his heart. Last time, he’d broken free of Moreau by breaking the link between what he felt and what he did. It had taken months of Toby’s cooking lessons to repair it.

He wanted to, so ran his fingers through Parker’s hair. He wanted to, so he tipped his head to rest against Hardison’s.

Breaking that link wasn’t an option anymore.

Parker and Hardison had called dibs. If it all went south, they were just going to have to come and claim him.

 

 

 

Eliot slipped Hardison’s magic cell phone into his back pocket. Hardison assured them it would intercept the passcode transmission (if Moreau had his passcode token on him, if the code was transmitted while they were in the room, if, if…). Carefully, he slipped the contact lenses into his eyes that would capture Moreau’s retinal scans.

When it was finally time to leave, Hardison handed an earpiece to him and Parker. “I’ll turn them on when we’re ready.”

Eliot accepted one, for now. Parker put hers in and headed for the window.

“I’m meeting Sophie and Nate at the rendezvous point.”

Hardison clearly had been hoping for an actual goodbye. “Parker, I—”

“I claim the last scone when we get back,” she said, and jumped out the window.

Eliot slapped him on the back as he walked to the door. “That right there was a ‘see you later’.”

“I won’t even get a hug when I come back,” Hardison said, gloomily. “Mark my words.”

“Man up, Hardison.”

“What does that even mean?”

They’d left the godawful SUV in a parking garage half a mile away. By the time Eliot was driving, Hardison had turned on the comms.

“Okay guys, we are set to go on this end.” Nate’s voice didn’t betray any hint of anxiety. Eliot appreciated that.

“Why is your hair like that?” Parker asked.

Sophie said, “Mm? Oh, this is my government hair.”

The chatter in his ear was distracting and weirdly comforting. They had a thirty-minute drive to the hotel where they were meeting Moreau, and at this point, distractions were extremely welcome.

(He’d told Hardison he wasn’t afraid, back when they’d first started training. It hadn’t been a lie then, but it was now.)

“Hardison, did you and Eliot go over the angle?” Nate asked.

“Angle?” Hardison repeated. “The Evil Empath angle? Yes, Nate, as you might recall, we had a very effective practice run yesterday. Why is no one paying attention to the effective practice run?”

“Because today you’re not conning goons, you’re conning the most powerful empath in North America. Eliot, I told you to talk this over with him.”

Nate had taken Eliot aside yesterday, right before he and Sophie left. But then Parker had burst in like a dirty bomb, and frankly, Eliot hadn’t wanted to have that conversation with Hardison. He didn’t answer to Nate.

“It’s going to keep you both alive,” Sophie said, her voice sweet and winsome. “Come on. When psychics mark psi-null assets, they sometimes treat them like a favorite employee. Hardison could use that.”

Eliot really, really didn’t want to have this conversation. “Moreau used to make fun of psychics like that.”

“Alright,” Sophie said easily, “then don’t use that. Um, there are others who get attached on a more emotional level…”

“Oh for the love of—” Eliot slammed his breaks harder than necessary at a stoplight. “Moreau views them like prestigious pets, alright? That’s the angle.”

Nate’s voice was relentless. “So Sophie is right about the emotional attachment?”

“No,” Eliot said, every word feeling dragged out of him. “It’s like rich guys and racehorses. They’ll brag about how many races their horse wins and they’ll walk people down to the stable for a look, but they don’t care about horses. It’s just another thing that makes them look powerful.”

Eliot very carefully did not look at Hardison. He felt a warm flush creeping up his neck. There were lots of things to be ashamed of regarding his time with Moreau, but this was a big one. Moreau had used him like a _thing_ , and Eliot had let him.

(Eliot had begged him for the privilege.)

“That’s what I was doing before,” Hardison said. “Didn’t you hear me? I was all, _I have something that belongs to Moreau, blah blah blah, I’m a terrible person_.”

“That’s not enough,” Eliot said.

“Then what is?” Hardison demanded.

Eliot was acutely aware of Nate and Sophie’s listening presence. He didn’t know them. This wasn’t for their ears.

But it would keep Hardison alive.

“Moreau won’t be thinking of me like a—like _me_. You have to be the same if you want him to respect you.”

Eliot kept his eyes fixed resolutely on the road.

“He doesn’t get it,” Nate said, and Eliot didn’t have to look at Hardison to know it was true. “Talk him through an example.”

Every time Eliot had to strip himself bare, there were strangers watching. And, dammit, it was too early for the helplessness to be hemming him in—he hadn’t even _seen_ Moreau yet.

“Par—!” Sophie’s cry was cut off in the middle, so unexpectedly that Eliot almost swerved.

“Caref—” Nate said, before he too cut out.

“You’ll get them back,” Parker said. “Just a second. Eliot needs to talk. Hardison, I’m putting my earbud back in after six minutes.”

“Good call, Parker.”

There was no answer.

Eliot stole a glance at Hardison. He looked sad, but not shocked.

“Eliot. You don’t have tell me.”

Yes, he did. Eliot tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

“That, right there, is exactly what you can’t do. Don’t give me options. Don’t say my name like it’s something you care about.”

“I know, I know. I’ll be mean to you.”

“Don’t do that either. If you care enough to be cruel, you care too much.” Parker would have understood, Eliot knew. Together, the two of them would have aced this part of the con. Instead, he was stuck with Hardison’s bleeding heart.

Eliot tried one more time. “To Moreau, no one in the world is real except for him. If you think the same way, he’ll talk to you. The longer he talks, the better chance we have of getting that passcode.”

“But he’s an empath,” Hardison said, sounding mystified. “He can feel everyone he meets, same as me. How did he get to the point where he can just ignore that?”

“I don’t actually give a shit.”

“Yeah. I don’t either.” Out of the corner of his eye, Eliot saw Hardison sit straighter. “Eliot Spencer. El-i-ot. _Elllliot Spennnnncer._ ”

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Man, you told me not to say your name like I cared. I’m practicing. Don’t mess me up. _Spen-cer._ Spencer, Spencer.”

“Alec.”

Hardison made a face. “I don’t like it.”

“Good.”

There was one more thing to say. “This needs to work.”

“It will, man.”

This time, Eliot’s stop at the red light was gentle. He turned towards Hardison. “You need to convince him of your cover.”

Hardison was a smart man, for all that he was a kind one. He was serious when he said, “I know. I will.”

The dashboard clock said Eliot had one minute before Parker could hear this.  “Anything it takes, Hardison,” he said, the words coming out too rushed. “Whatever you need to do, I’m okay with. Parker’s list doesn’t have to apply here.”

“The list always applies.”

“Fine, then not those things. But anything else, you do it and you don’t hesitate. Understand?”

“You need Moreau gone,” Hardison said. “I get that—more than most. I’m not going to like it, but I promise, I’ll sell the part.”

“I know you will.” Eliot slid the vehicle forward. “For the record, I’m glad you’re not going to like it.”

Parker’s voice was back. “Yeah, that’s a good thing. Are you guys done?”

“Almost,” Hardison said.

“Then I’m keeping Nate and Sophie’s comms until you are.”

But Hardison didn’t speak until the GPS was telling them they were two miles away.

“As soon as we pull into that parking lot, don’t assume anything you feel is real,” Hardison said.

“I have done this before, you know.”

Hardison ignored him. “I might tell you it’s real. Or I might tell you it’s not. No matter what, don’t believe me.”

Eliot knew that. But the instinct to trust Hardison ran deep. Eliot would never admit it, but he might have actually needed that reminder.

Parker’s voice, nestled close, said, “Eliot, don’t listen to anyone but me. When I tell you to do something, it will be the right thing to do.”

Yes. That was exactly what he needed.

(How did Parker always know?)

Eliot saw the Balagio Hotel in the distance, a tall, sleek building. “You’re going to have to make it an order for that to work.”

“Ooh. You’ll really do what I say?”

“Just for today, Parker.”

“Promise!”

“I promise.”

“We’re here,” Hardison said.

Eliot took out his earbud and flicked it out the window, letting the traffic destroy the evidence. He had convinced the others that having one was too dangerous. It was—the contact lenses were enough of a gamble. But also, Eliot didn’t want anyone except Hardison to hear the things Moreau would surely coax out of his mouth.

Eliot parked the car and, despite everything, looked over to Hardison for one last reassurance.

The Alec Hardison who looked back at him was a stranger. He looked carved out of iron. There was some vital warmth missing from his eyes.

“What?” this unknowable version said. “Get out and open my door.”

Silently, Eliot did.

 

 

 

 

Once they were inside the lobby, Hardison paused to let Eliot scope it out.

It was what they’d expected. Eliot put his hand on Hardison’s arm to get his attentio and kept it there while he spoke. “The guy by the elevator, the woman looking at her phone, and the couple pretending to check out the tourist brochures.”

Hardison didn’t even look at him. “Take care of it.”

Eliot did.

Messily.

As elevator guy’s wrist cracked, Eliot noticed that he hadn’t heard the level of commotion he’d expected after beating three people unconscious in a public area and fighting the fourth.

The guy went down after a few kicks to the face, and the reason for the quiet became apparent. Hardison was walking around the lobby, talking to each person one at a time, his face extremely concentrated. Everyone in the lobby was watching Eliot with peaceful, serene expressions. He wiped blood off his knuckles using the elevator guy’s tie and accidentally made eye contact with a pretty brunette standing nearby.

She smiled at him absently.

Hardison was pushing something—calm, peace, whatever—into every single person in the lobby, except Eliot.

Eliot’s skin tingled. He’d known Hardison had power inside him, but it was different actually seeing it. It was terrifying and reassuring in equal parts.

“According to the nice woman at the front desk, Moreau is in suite 704,” Hardison said. “It’s almost three o’clock. Let’s go meet him.”

 

* * * *

 

Eliot stood close to Hardison in the elevator, their hands and shoulders brushing. Ever since they got out of the car, he’d been doing that—little nudges and touches that lingered. It reminded Hardison of when Parker got upset and pressed up against him for reassurance. Hardison leaned into Eliot and kept his face bank.

“In position,” Parker’s voice said over the comms.

Nate muttered, “Same,” before his voice went high and nasally. “Hello? Yes, I have an appointment?”

Sophie was talking in her mid-west accent, but not to them. “Well, you tell Congressman Roberts that it’s a matter of national security!”

Hardison tuned them all out, like ignoring music at the mall. When the doors slid open, the hallway was empty. The thick carpet muffled their footfalls, everything quiet and breathless.

There was a woman standing guard outside suite 704. She looked strong and murderous in an Eliot sort of way. She didn’t reach for a weapon when they approached, but she didn’t have to in order to make Hardison pause and Eliot step forward. Hardison put a hand on his arm and Eliot swayed back towards him, like Hardison was the sun he was orbiting.

The woman’s lips curled in distaste. She opened the door and said, her voice accented in what was probably Hebrew, “Boss, they’re here.”

“Well, don’t leave them begging on the doorstep. That’s no way to treat a business partner.”

The man’s voice was cool, a sip of smooth whiskey that burned on its way down.

The effect on Eliot was immediate. Hardison squinted against the sudden fire of anger and fear and disgust that roared to life in his mind.

Hardison smoothed his thumb in a gentle circle on Eliot’s arm. The woman still had her back to them, and Eliot slanted him a heavy look.

Right. Evil Empath Hardison.

Eliot’s emotions were stinging his eyes, and Evil Empath Hardison would definitely be doing something about it.

“What is wrong with you?” he asked, wiping his voice free of everything but irritation. “You’re giving me a headache.”

Eliot ducked his head apologetically.

Hardison swiped his finger down Eliot’s arm and—and—he took it all away. All the nastiness inside Eliot’s head evaporated under his touch, like he’d wished he could do so many times before. It hadn’t been right then and it wasn’t right now.

Eliot’s body relaxed into his.

“Sorry about that,” Hardison said. “He gets a little worked up.”

“I remember.”

Hardison had expected Damien Moreau to be a basic white dude—maybe a little richer and a little more of a bastard. But honestly, the man standing at the doorway set Hardison’s stomach quivering.

He looked dangerous. There was no other word for it. He had power lurking in even his smallest movements, the kind that was used to being obeyed. His suit was pressed to sharp-edged perfection, but his smile was somehow put together wrong, so that it skated across Hardison’s nerves.

Empaths couldn’t read each other. Their minds were built too differently. It just added to Hardison’s off-kilter feeling, that emptiness where Moreau’s emotions should have been.

Sweet Jesus, this guy was terrifying.

“This is mine, I believe.” Moreau extended a hand in Eliot’s direction, but stopped just short of touching him. Eliot didn’t move, just looked at Hardison.

“Not yet. You lost him, Moreau. I found him.” Hardison spoke with all the confidence he did not have.

 Moreau’s eyes narrowed. “I would be within my rights to have my people kill you and just take him.”

“That’s your call,” Hardison said easily, though he was pretty sure he was shaking. “But Spencer is working for me now, and he already left some of your people in bloody heaps downstairs. I wouldn’t bet against him in a fight. Would you?”

“I never have,” Moreau said, smiling his non-smile at Eliot. “Isn’t that right, my friend?”

Hardison was barely acting when he said, “Ow, stop!”

Eliot was multiple explosions. He was a hand on a hot stove. He hurt.

Hardison grabbed his wrist and pushed _calm_ as quickly as he could. It damped the feelings coming from Eliot enough to make standing next to him manageable.

Moreau was staring, lips parted. He looked hungry. He looked obsessed.

Sweet _Jesus_. What were they doing here?

“You and I ain’t friends.” Eliot’s accent was thick, the way it only was when he was really upset. Or acting.

Moreau raised his hands in surrender. “You’re right, you’re right.” He took a deep breath, like he was savoring the taste of something in the air. “We are something else entirely.”

Hardison had let this creep-fest go on long enough. “This is the asset on the table,” he said. “I take it you’re interested?”

Moreau stepped back from the doorway, inviting them in. “I am always looking for more allies with skill. I apologize for the unpleasantness over the past few weeks. Mostly, I was interested in reclaiming Spencer and adding Parker to my collection. I saw you left her in Montreal.”

Hardison’s heart lurched, and he might have said something stupid if Parker’s voice hadn’t whispered to him over the comms: “Focus, Hardison. Nothing is downloading on the phone you gave me.”

Parker was fine. She was fine, and there was a plan.

Eliot pressed close to his back. Hardison really hoped he’d managed to keep his face impassive. “I hired her for the job,” he said, reciting the cover story they’d created.

“You couldn’t hold her,” Moreau guessed.

Hardison shrugged. “No, but I had other concerns at that point.” He tipped his head toward Eliot.

“I can imagine.” Moreau looked like he was imagining _something_. “I am willing to consider your terms, Alec Hardison. Let’s talk.”

 

 

 

 

The suite proved to be fancy, everything plush and soft-looking. Moreau waved them towards chairs that almost swallowed Hardison when he sat. Eliot took a position behind him, and Hardison knew it was a bodyguard thing, but he didn’t like the thought that Moreau could see Eliot’s face and he couldn’t.

The scary woman from before offered them champagne, which Hardison readily accepted. His hands needed something to fiddle with.

Moreau lounged in his chair, crossing his ankles. “You’ve done a good job with him,” he said, reluctantly impressed. “I can see it from here. Plus, he followed you to me, surely knowing what you were going to do. It’s good work. How did you manage it?”

Passcodes like Moreau’s were normally transmitted every hour. They had to keep him talking for at least that long to intercept it, but Hardison didn’t know if he could make up details in the face of this man’s hunger for them. “What can I say? He’s very suggestable.”

Moreau looked torn between pleasure and irritation. “True. If you can find the right buttons to push, he’s yours for life.” He studied Eliot. “Did he find yours, Spencer?”

“Yes,” Eliot said, in a subdued voice Hardison had never heard him use.

“Yes,” Moreau agreed. He glanced at Hardison like they were sharing a joke. “You’ve gotten a taste for him, haven’t you? When he first came to me, I knew his mind was special. And after I made it perfect, well. There’s nothing like him that I’ve seen.”

Complimenting Eliot’s brain was Always Bad. Hardison was beginning to suspect that Eliot’s list was basically Moreau’s playbook.

 “For example,” Moreau continued, his eyes on Eliot. “Most humans can only manage one empath in their head at a time. The special ones can take two. With Spencer, our last experiment had him at eight and he was still conscious. Do you remember Belgrade, Spencer?”

Eliot was burning through Hardison’s artificial calm at an alarming rate. “Not really.”

“I do. Amazing.”

Hardison took a sip of champagne to hide whatever horror that he couldn’t quite manage to get off his face. Then, he said, “So you understand why I don’t plan to part with him without compensation.”

“I understand,” Moreau said. “He’s gloriously addictive. That’s how one of my colleagues put it, and it’s not far from the truth.”

Hardison hated that he knew what Moreau meant. Once he’d been inside Eliot’s mind, he’d wanted to stay forever.

“Don’t worry,” Moreau said, noticing his silence. “You don’t have to go cold-turkey. In any partnership, there are always…fringe benefits?”

Hardison wanted to take Eliot and walk out that door.

Instead, he said, “I would be open to that.”

“Good,” Moreau said decisively. “Normally, I kill people who steal from me. That is,” again, that amusement that felt like an inside joke, “I point them out to Spencer and he kills them. But this is an unusual circumstance. And you are bringing him back, so I suppose we don’t have a quarrel after all.”

“I suppose we don’t.”

“I’d like to assess the damage, though,” Moreau said, twirling his champagne glass in his fingers. “Before I agree on a final price. If I have to spend weeks re-forming his head so that he doesn’t murder me, I’m afraid that lowers what I’m willing to pay.”

Did this count as sharing? Was this on the list? Hardison should have asked exactly what Eliot had meant, but he hadn’t because Hardison was an actual _idiot_.

“A reading is usually part of negotiations,” Eliot’s voice said from behind him. It was in-character enough that it would look like a devoted minion giving advice, but Hardison also knew it was Eliot giving him permission.

“Is he facilitating his own sale?” Moreau asked, looking positively delighted. “My god, Alec. Yes, this I absolutely have to see for myself. Spencer, come here.”

Eliot waited, making it clear who he was obeying. Moreau started to frown.

“Go,” Hardison said. He prayed to whatever god defended hapless geeks out of their depth that this was the right call.

Eliot went without hesitation. Hardison had a frightening, almost giddy realization that in this role, Eliot would probably do anything Hardison asked.

Hardison’s hysterical thought was that it was too bad he didn’t have the Star Trek movies on hand. Eliot would love them if he just watched the first one, Hardison was sure—

 Eliot knelt in front of Moreau and lifted his chin to stare him in the eyes. From where Hardison sat, he could feel that Eliot was a tangled mess again, and Hardison was even more proud of him for meeting Moreau’s gaze.

“Just a skim read,” Hardison warned. “We’ve not made a deal yet.”

“Of course,” Moreau murmured. He put a hand to Eliot’s cheek and brushed his thumb across his temple.

Hardison expected Eliot to pull away, like he had with Parker last night. He didn’t. He held very still and kept his eyes open.

Hardison almost flinched when Parker’s voice said, “Retinal scans just came through. Eliot did it.”

Hardison could feel Moreau’s powers picking and scratching their way through Eliot’s brain. He could feel Eliot’s rising horror. Finally, Eliot started to pull back.

“Shh,” Moreau said. He put his other hand to Eliot’s face to lock him in place. “You know how to do this. Hold still.”

Hardison couldn’t watch this. “Spencer!” he snapped. “That’s enough.”

Eliot stood up so quickly he stumbled. Hardison barely stopped himself from reaching out to catch him. Instead, he helped the only way he could. “Sit,” he said, pointing to the floor by his feet.

Eliot did, slamming his back so hard into Hardison’s chair that it pushed it back a few inches.

Moreau didn’t look so pleased anymore. “Like I said before. You do impressive work, Alec.” He didn’t sound impressed—he sounded angry.

“Thank you,” Hardison said, cautiously. Getting killed by Moreau was not part of the plan.

Eliot laughed, resting his head against the chair. “Less than three weeks, Moreau. That’s all it took.”

Moreau was trying to play it cool, but Hardison was a bad enough actor to recognize bad acting in others.  He wasn’t entirely sure what they were referencing, but Moreau was definitely seeing Hardison’s fingerprints in Eliot’s mind. Hardison suspected Eliot shouldn’t be bringing that up if they wanted negotiations to continue.

Moreau’s face was tight. “I agree to your terms. Leave him and go.”

Sometimes, Hardison hated being right.

“What?” Parker said over the comms. “Wait. No. No leaving! There’s no passcode on your phone, Hardison, you have to stall!”

“I’m keeping the Bureau’s list,” Hardison said, hoping to provoke disagreement.

“Very well.”

“I want three million.”

“Two million.”

“Three.”

“Very well.”

Hardison was slowly spiraling into panic. They didn’t have the passcode, so they couldn’t leave.

Nate said, muffled in his ear, “Eliot has the receiver in his pocket. He can get the data if you leave him there.”

There was absolutely no way in hell Hardison was going to leave Eliot with Damien Moreau.

“Hardison!” Nate ordered. “You’re going to blow your cover if you don’t leave.”

“It’s a good deal.” Eliot turned his head casually to look up at Hardison. He felt oddly triumphant. Why would he be feeling—

It clicked. Eliot had known how Moreau would react to reading Hardison’s claim on him. He’d known it would stop negotiations. He’d been the one to volunteer to take the damn phone in the first place.

He’d been planning this from the beginning.

“It really is, you know,” Moreau said. He glanced at his watch. “And if you’re going to take it, you should do so quickly. I have a bidding war going on between the North Koreans and an ecoterrorism group in Russia.”

Eliot probably wanted to keep him _safe_ or some crap like that. Hardison was going to kick his ass. He had no idea how, but when this was all over, he was going to give Eliot Spencer the ass-kicking of his life.

“I’ll take it,” Hardison heard himself say.

“Excellent. Give your information to the girl at the front desk on your way out and the money will be transferred tomorrow.”

It was happening too fast. Moreau stood, and Hardison automatically followed. He shook Moreau’s hand when Moreau offered it.

“You seem unhappy with our deal,” Moreau said. He held Hardison’s hand tightly. Hardison snapped his awareness back to the present.

“Not really,” Hardison said.

Moreau was considering him, something nasty glinting in his eyes. “I’ll tell you what, I am a generous man. Have one last taste before you go.”

Hardison pulled his hand back. “Oh. Um. No, man, it’s cool. I mean, I’m good.”

Moreau raised his eyebrows, and damn, Hardison’s cover was slipping. He was too freaked out, and he was going to blow it after all.

“I insist,” Moreau said. There was an undercurrent of viciousness that hadn’t been present before. They had made Moreau very angry indeed. Now that he knew Hardison was uncomfortable, he was going to force the issue.

“Some empaths are private in these matters,” Moreau said. “But not me. Surely Spencer told you about my little parties. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, I promise you.”

Hardison had been in Eliot’s mind dozens of times at this point, but always under agreed-upon parameters. He had been extremely careful, even when he was pushing emotions, not to go too deep. The temptation had been there, but easily resistible because it was _Eliot_ , and Hardison would never want more than he was given.

That wasn’t the kind of reading Moreau would be expecting. It wasn’t what Evil Empath Hardison would do, especially since he was supposed to have messed with Eliot’s head before.

Hardison had promised Eliot that he would make this plan work.

 _Anything_ , Eliot had told him.

“Well then,” Hardison said. “If you really don’t mind?”

Moreau had that hungry look back on his face. “You might have heard. I like to watch.”

Hardison had been careful not to look at Eliot this whole time, but now there was nothing for it. He braced himself for whatever expression he was going to see and turned towards him.

Eliot looked like he always did: stoic and sort of exasperated. He stood up and motioned for Hardison to follow him across the room. He pressed his back against a bare stretch of wall. “Come on,” he said, like he was daring Hardison to fight him.

Hardison had no idea why they were doing it like this, but whatever. He would have done anything Eliot even vaguely hinted at this point.

No face touching. Hardison didn’t care if it was something Evil Empath Hardison would have done, he curled his fingers around Eliot’s wrist because that was how Eliot always touched him.

Affection sparked under Hardison’s fingertips. Eliot knew.

“I hope you don’t mind if I supervise.”

Hardison jumped. Moreau was almost directly behind him, looking over Hardison’s shoulder.

“He is my newly returned asset, after all. I don’t want him damaged.”

Moreau was close enough to feel anything Hardison did. He was close enough to stare right into Eliot’s eyes while Hardison did it.

Eliot’s expression was going blank—his eyes fixed on Moreau somewhere behind Hardison’s left shoulder.

“Hey,” Hardison snapped. “Pay attention.”

Eliot focused on him.

Hardison tried to make himself as cruel-sounding as possible. “For the next few minutes, you still belong to me.”

Gratitude bled warm into Hardison’s hands. He knew Eliot heard Parker’s voice in his words. _Eliot is ours._

Hardison didn’t let himself think about what he was doing. He didn’t wait for an invitation. He didn’t go slowly so Eliot wouldn’t panic. He closed his eyes and shoved his way deep inside Eliot’s mind.

It felt good. So good. That was the worst part.

Eliot jerked back against the wall. Hardison pinned Eliot’s wrist against it and pressed his other hand flat against Eliot’s chest, holding him.

Eliot could snap his wrist in two seconds, but he never would. That felt horribly good too.

It was hard to think surrounded by the delicious warmth of Eliot’s mind, further in than he’d ever let himself go before. Eliot’s emotions swirled around him, each one bursting across his senses in flashes of sparks. This had to be hurting Eliot, and Hardison didn’t know what would blow his cover and what wouldn’t.

Hardison risked opening his own mind a little so Eliot could feel him too. _Here I am, hi, it’s me._

Eliot shuddered and went pliant in Hardison’s grip. Hardison choked back whatever noise was trying to make its way out of his throat as Eliot’s mind drew him further in. Oh god, how could there be an even deeper level?

No one should be this deep inside someone’s mind. It was like closing his hand around Eliot’s spine. The slightest twitch from Hardison would break him.

Moreau was watching, and Hardison had to push something or it would be suspicious.

Hardison didn’t want to hurt Eliot. He loved Eliot. Parker loved Eliot.

Desperately, Hardison wrapped up all those feelings and released them into Eliot’s mind.

The _sounds_ Eliot made. Hardison really, really didn’t want Moreau to hear those sounds—they were private. Eliot was high on the pleasure Hardison was injecting into him, and he couldn’t help it. He wouldn’t want anyone to hear him like this.

Hardison removed his hand from Eliot’s chest and put it over his mouth.

Did that count as touching his face?

Hardison’s head was too turned around to puzzle it out. He added it to the huge list of things he was going to have to beg forgiveness for after this was over.

He was shaking, or maybe Eliot was shaking. Eliot’s breath was hot against his palm.

This was—

This was—

“Hardison, stop. Hardison! Snap out of it!”

Why was Parker here? Parker couldn’t be here.

Eliot whimpered as Hardison drew his mind back slightly to concentrate.

“Hardison!” Parker’s voice was over the comms, that’s right. She wasn’t here. “Chocolate espresso!”

Hardison came back to his senses with a terrible jolt. His eyes flew open.

This was Eliot he had pressed against the wall, panting and wrecked underneath his hands.

 _This_ was not the point of them. It wasn’t what Hardison wanted from Eliot, and it wasn’t what Eliot wanted from him.

How did Parker always know?

Hardison slipped out of Eliot’s mind and backed away, scrubbing his hands against his pants.

Moreau had bright color in his face that Hardison did not want to think about. “Any time you would like to come back, Alec, you would be welcome.”

Hardison needed to find a place where he could throw up and cry. But he couldn’t leave Eliot without a word.

“Yes,” he said, forcing himself to catch Eliot’s eye. “I’ll see you soon.”

Eliot blinked slowly. Hardison hoped he understood.

“You need to go. Now,” Moreau said. He pointed to the woman, who was still lurking in the corner. “Take him downstairs and get him what he needs. Then stay outside.”

Hardison let himself be ushered firmly away. He looked back in time to see Moreau move closer and Eliot push himself away from the wall.

The door closed behind him, and Eliot was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out this awesome art, you guys! V_vulpes made it for a scene in the first chapter: http://justcalledkate.tumblr.com/post/137125237126/you-know-were-on-each-others-team

Eliot needed a minute, and he wasn’t going to get one.

Hardison’s reading had been terrible. Obviously. But Eliot was grateful, beyond what he would ever be able to express, that Hardison had been first. Moreau’s turn was coming, but the first reading of the day was always the worst—the shock and the helplessness almost unmanageable before he remembered how to roll with it. Hardison had done it with more kindness than Eliot had thought possible. But really, that was Hardison in a nutshell.

 Eliot allowed himself a small flicker of satisfaction. Making Moreau jealous had been a calculated risk: acting all cozy with Hardison and forcing the issue of the reading. But it had worked, and Hardison was out of Moreau’s reach now. No matter what happened, he and Parker would survive this.

Moreau was studying him carefully. Eliot waited. This could go several different ways.

Moreau sighed. “Oh, sit down, Eliot. Honestly.”

Great. Slow and chatty—his favorite.

At the same time, Eliot did want to sit down. It could have been Moreau, or it could have been because Eliot’s legs still felt wobbly after Hardison. It didn’t matter at this point.

Eliot picked the least cushy chair.

Moreau perched on the edge of the chair across from his and regarded him with something that looked like weariness. “I don’t even know where to start with you. Running away from home like some kind of child was bad enough, but it’s been almost a year. You killed Chapman, who was an extremely expensive investment and something I am very irate about, by the way. And then you show up with some second-rate nobody holding your leash? I have to be frank, I am at a loss.”

Eliot concentrated on conveying to Moreau his extreme amount of indifference.

Moreau’s lips thinned. “Enjoy that while it lasts.”

Eliot planned to.

“If you were unhappy in your employment, you just had to say something,” Moreau said. He had a way of making everything sound so reasonable, even without using his powers. He smiled at Eliot like he knew every inch of him. “Come on, now.  You and I both know you loved it.”

No, he hadn’t. Sure, there had been a large part of him that Moreau had twisted up beyond recognition, and that part had loved belonging to something, being of use, and even the violence. But some nights, he had woken up drowning in the knowledge that everything in his life was wrong.

Eliot gave Moreau a smile of his own. “I gotta know, Damien. What pisses you off more? That you couldn’t catch me until I wanted to be found or that another empath was inside my head?”

Moreau’s moods could change direction in a breath, and just like that, he was furious. “I made you the best,” he said, a warning hiss lurking in his voice. “I marked you. I did not go through all that trouble to have someone leave his grubby smudges all over you. You reek of him.”

 _Them_ , actually, but Moreau didn’t know about Parker.

“Yeah,” Eliot said. “Guess I do.”

“You think you love him.” A curl of mean amusement twisted Moreau’s mouth. “Remember, Eliot, you thought you loved me.”

Falling in love with Moreau had been effortless and thoughtless—he had never decided to do it, Moreau had just slipped the idea into his head.

Parker and Hardison were not easy. Parker was slightly crazy and had no sense of personal space. Hardison drove him nuts with endless rambling about geek stuff. They ate terrible food. They were loud and reckless.

Eliot had chosen them. Every step of the way.

“None of that matters now,” he said.

“It matters to me.” Eliot had forgotten the way Moreau looked at him, like Eliot was something he couldn’t wait to bite into. “You want to walk out that door, but you don’t. Why?”

Because there was a plan, and Eliot thought it would work.

“I think,” Moreau continued, “that little Alec has twisted himself into you so deeply that you want what he wants. He wanted you to stay, and so you stayed. ”

Hardison had _wanted_ to drag Eliot out of here the second they arrived. Eliot was going to have to sit down and watch some stupid sci-fi movie with him after this was all over as a thank you for keeping it together.

Affection would only help their cover, and so he didn’t bother to hide his.

Moreau looked so disgusted. “You’re an addict. I suppose I deserve partial blame. I got you hooked on empaths in the first place. But the point was not for you to go slumming around with every psychic who makes you feel pretty.”

(Four days after he escaped, Eliot had broken his left thumb as a distraction from the all-consuming _want_ that had filled his head where Moreau had been.)

“You just paid three million dollars without blinking,” Eliot said. “You have some kind of business deal in Boston that’s going down today, but you’re here with me. I’m not the only addict in the room.”

Moreau stood abruptly and Eliot shut his mouth.  He rested his hand on Eliot’s head—a live grenade.

Eliot felt himself freeze.

“I love the new hair.” Moreau let a few strands slip through his fingers. Quietly, he said, “I am going to take everything you feel for him and anyone else out of your head bit by bit. And when you are empty, I am going to fill you up with nothing but me. Do you understand, Eliot?”

Eliot could try to run. He had never been able to kill Moreau, and he wasn’t sure he could do it now, but running had worked before.

If he ran, his life went back to what it had been: hiding from Moreau, explaining about Moreau, planning how to fight Moreau.

Eliot had the possibility of a real life waiting for him if this plan worked, one built around helping people. One that included Parker’s bright eyes and Hardison’s smile.

He was going to fight for that life with every ounce of his strength and trust his team to take care of the rest.

So instead of running, he chose to hold still.

He chose to say, “Yes. I understand.”

 

 

 

Moreau had his hands on Eliot’s face, and Eliot hated that until he didn’t, fast as blowing a fuse. Panic crawled up his throat, but that too was snuffed out before it had time to do more than gag him.

“Easy,” Moreau said, like he always did. “Easy.”

They were standing together, close enough for a knife to the ribs. Ha. Maybe he should add standing close to Parker’s list, just to see her try to follow it.

“There’s one,” Moreau murmured. His eyes were open. Hardison always closed his eyes.

Eliot felt something being pulled out of him. It was like Myanmar, the medics extracting the bullet out of his shoulder. The bullet hadn’t wanted to come out, and neither did this thing, but the medics had gotten it eventually. Moreau did too.

Eliot was sweating.

He had told Parker the Myanmar story. Why?

 

 

 

It was like having his fingernails pulled out, one by one. Moreau took and took. How was there that much for him to take?

Eliot was so dizzy, he was clinging to Moreau’s shoulders to stay upright. The solidity of him was desperately reassuring as the flood in his head receded, leaving vast shores of emptiness behind.

He was making hurt sounds. It didn’t matter.

“Just hold on to me,” Moreau told him.

Everything on the outside was spinning and everything on the inside was fading, so Eliot held on as tightly as he could.

Eventually, his head was quiet. Moreau was still staring at him, and Eliot remembered that Hardison always closed his eyes, but that didn’t mean anything to him anymore. It didn’t matter that it didn’t.

“What are you feeling, Eliot?” Moreau asked.

“Nothing.”

“Good. That’s good.”

 

 

Like the tide rushing back in, Eliot started to feel things again. Protectiveness. Devotion. Love. Need. Want.

It felt so good to _feel_.

He realized his grip on Damien’s shoulders was probably hurting him, and he gentled it with an apologetic rub of his thumb.

Damien was watching him, and Eliot smiled. He liked Damien’s eyes on him.

(He didn’t, actually. He knew that. But what he knew didn’t matter.)

Their faces were very close together. “Did I tell you I can cook now?” Eliot said softly.

“Really?”

“Mm. Even that awful tilapia dish you like so much.”

“You learned to make that?” Damien sounded pleased.

“Couldn’t get you out of my head. Like a goddamn ghost.”

“Cooking can come later. Readings first. Is that alright with you, my friend?”

(It wasn’t. Eliot knew that.)

“Sure,” he said.

(His mouth was like a puppet’s, with his heart pulling the strings.)

Damien shoved himself into Eliot’s mind with so much force, Eliot rocked backward. It hurt, a vague, generalized ache somewhere in his stomach, which didn’t make sense.

“I think I’ll empty you out each time,” Moreau said thoughtfully. His mind twisted inside Eliot’s. “I am going to hide you away in a hole somewhere until I need you, then I’ll wind you up and send you out.”

(No. No, no, no.)

“Okay,” Eliot said.

 

 

* * * *

 

The Ram’s Horn turned out to be a bomb. That’s what Hardison said when Parker brought it to their meeting place beside the railway tracks. Hardison’s eyes looked red, but he got right to work examining the huge hunk of metal and gizmos she’d stolen. The thing was heavy. She’d had to levitate it here.

“I need to dismantle this,” Hardison said finally. “I can do it, but it’ll take some time.”

Parker bounced on her toes. “Do you need me for that?”

“No.” He tossed her the keys to the SUV. “I’ll meet you at the apartment as soon as I can. Parker.” Hardison was not alright. She had an idea of what had happened with Moreau, and it had hurt Hardison somewhere deep inside. “Parker,” he said again, like he didn’t know what else to put after it.

She grabbed him into a quick, tight hug. It wouldn’t fix him, but it was a start.

“Get him out of there,” Hardison said fiercely.

“I will. I’m a thief, remember?”

 

 

 

Ten minutes later, Parker was at the hotel. Tall building. Hard to climb without anyone seeing.

“ETA twenty minutes,” Nate said in her ear.

She wasn’t going to need that long. She’d once stolen a Caravaggio in four minutes. Stealing an Eliot couldn’t be much more difficult.

Parker blew through the hotel lobby and jumped up the stairs two flights at a time. There was a mean-looking lady outside Moreau’s suite. Parker chose _quiet_ over _nice._ From a distance, she used her powers to freeze the woman in place and shut her mouth. Then she ran over and tasered her, extra long so she wouldn’t wake up any time soon.

She pressed her ear against the door and didn’t hear anything. It wasn’t locked, so she eased it open a crack, silent as only a thief could be.

There was no one there.

Parker crept in, closing the door behind her. She could hear murmuring in one of the rooms attached to the main suite. Probably the master bedroom.

She peered around the corner.

Eliot looked okay. He wasn’t bloody or dead. He was lying back on the bed, which looked soft, so she knew it wasn’t hurting his elbows when he leaned on them. There was a soft carpet for his feet where they rested bare against the floor. He’d taken off his socks and shoes, which he never did except when he was sleeping.

Moreau was standing close to him, which wasn’t so good.

Moreau looked like an old rich jerk. He was standing right between Eliot’s legs, which was a stupid place to stand, because Eliot could bring his knees up and smash him in the nose.

Eliot was smiling, soft and warm and open. He was looking up at _Moreau_ and smiling. Parker had never seen him look at her or Hardison like that, and Eliot actually liked them.

Parker wanted to toss Moreau off the top of this building for stealing that smile from Eliot.

Her powers didn’t work quite as well on other psychics, but she managed to knock Moreau back a few steps as she stalked into the room.

Moreau stumbled as he turned to face her. “Who are you?” he demanded. “Mikal!”

“Yeah, I tasered her unconscious,” Parker said. “Eliot, let’s go.”

“Eliot? Who is this?”

Eliot was on his feet now, Parker noted approvingly. “Parker,” he said slowly. “Why are you here?”

“Stealing you back. Let’s go.”

“Parker?” Moreau started forward, but she was able to lock him in place, at least for the next few minutes. “ _The_ Parker?” Moreau sounded pretty pleased for a guy who had his feet stuck to the floor. He actually looked way calmer than Parker would have been if her evil plan had been interrupted by a stranger.

Parker turned to go, but Eliot wasn’t following her. He was looking from her to Moreau and back again, indecision in every line of him.

“Come on!” Parker said, coming over to tug him away.

“Stay where you are,” he growled at her.

“Oh boy. You are definitely whammied.”  

 Eliot was frowning at her, like he could barely recognize her.

“Why don’t you calm down, my dear?” Moreau said. His voice was annoying. Parker could feel his empath powers tapping away on her door, but empaths weren’t telepaths.

“That doesn’t work on me,” she said.

“So I see. I’d appreciate it if you would subdue the threat, Eliot.” Okay, there was the anger Parker had expected.

“She’s not a threat.”

Moreau narrowed his eyes at Eliot. “Yes she is. You feel threatened.”

Eliot glanced quickly around at all the windows and doors, the way he did when he was calculating escape routes. Moreau was pushing something on him.

Parker hadn’t wanted to try this before, but she wasn’t going to get Eliot out of here with Moreau in his head. She sprang at Moreau with her taser in her hand—

\--and Eliot slammed into her, knocking her off balance enough for him to grab her and shove her against the wall. His strong arm was across her throat. It was hard to speak, but she managed to say, “Let me go. Now.”

He did it immediately, dropping her like she was made of hot metal.

Orders. That’s what Eliot had said would work. Apparently he knew himself pretty well.

She’d lost hold of Moreau while Eliot was pushing her around. He was hard to grab onto again, especially since he’d placed himself directly behind Eliot.

Moreau sounded angry enough to kill someone. “New girlfriend?”

“No,” Eliot said. He was shifting between her and Moreau, sometimes closer to one, sometimes to the other. “I think she’s my commanding officer.”

Parker liked the sound of that.

Damien Moreau did not.

“She is just another jewel to collect,” Moreau snapped. “And I do plan to collect her. So get yourself together, Spencer. You know what you want to do.” He stepped out from Eliot’s shadow, his hand tight on Eliot’s arm. Parker was afraid to try to pin him down in case her powers bounced off his psychic brain and hit Eliot by accident.

Moreau extended a hand towards Parker, glaring in concentration. Parker felt the tapping start again.

In one breath, Eliot had Moreau face down on the bed, his arms twisted behind his back.

“Don’t. Not to her.”  

“Eliot! _”_ Moreau’s outrage was muffled by the bedspread. Hotels didn’t wash those. Parker hoped he was getting lots of germs in his mouth.

“Hey,” she said to Eliot, risking moving a few steps closer. Eliot turned to her, eyes wild. “You said you’d obey my orders.”

“I don’t—” Eliot looked down at Moreau. “ _Damien_.” He released his hold, looking concerned as Moreau jumped up.

“How dare you?” Moreau had a very punchable face, Parker noticed.

“You promised,” she said.

“I can’t—”

Eliot looked hurt now. He looked like she was ripping him in half.

Well, boohoo. Parker didn’t care how Eliot felt, as long as he came back with her.

“Close your mind,” Parker ordered Eliot. “Do it now.”

Moreau laughed. It was not a nice sound. “Perhaps you haven’t known our friend Spencer for very long.”

Moreau put his hand on Eliot’s cheek and turned him away from Parker. “He can’t do what you’re asking of him. I should know, I made him this way. Isn’t that right?”

Eliot nodded, but his eyes slid over to find her.

“You can do it,” Parker said. And he could, so there was no reason for her to sound anything other than confident. They’d practiced over and over again in the apartment, building up Eliot’s strength.  

It had been their secret weapon.

“Remember what we talked about,” Parker said.

Moreau’s fingers dug into Eliot’s skin. “I want you to knock her unconscious.”

“Your mind is a diamond, and everyone else is a clown trying to steal it.”

“Do you understand me?” Moreau asked.

“It’s a knife. If someone gets too close, it’ll stab his eyes out.”

“Eliot, stop fighting. You want this.”

“Your mind,” Parker said, “is worth protecting.”

Eliot’s eyes were closed. He was biting his lip so hard that blood was starting to trickle down his chin. Slowly, he brought his hand up to cover Moreau’s where it rested on his face.

Moreau smiled.

When Eliot opened his eyes, there were volcanoes inside of them.

“Don’t touch me,” he said, and snapped two of Moreau’s fingers back.

Moreau shrieked, high-pitched like a whiny little boy. Eliot pushed him away with shaking hands and crossed the room quickly to stand next to Parker.

“Did it work?” Parker asked.

Eliot couldn’t take his eyes off Moreau, hunched up around his hand. “He can’t push anything new. But everything he put in is still there. It’s hard,” he said, strained. “Pain helps, but I can’t keep this up for long.” 

“I don’t know how you’re doing it. But wherever you run, I will find you.” Moreau wasn’t so powerful in a roomful of people he couldn’t control. He looked like he knew it. He was staying far away from them.

“That’ll be hard to do from the Bureau of Psychic Affairs’ containment facility,” Parker said.

Moreau managed a smile. “The Bureau won’t touch me. Dubenich and I have an arrangement.”

“Had,” Parker said. “ _Had_ an arrangement.”

Moreau’s smile didn’t falter. “What do you mean?”

Parker loved the gloating. It was her favorite part. “When Dubenich learned about your plans to double-cross him, he got pretty mad.”

“What plans? I never made any plans!”

Eliot said, softly, “Doesn’t matter. Nate Ford has spent the last few days making sure Dubenich believes you did.”

Eliot sounded way too sorry. He was slipping. Parker brought the heel of her boot down on his bare foot, hard enough for hairline fractures.

Eliot grunted, but the look he shot her was grateful.

Moreau’s lips were a thin grimace of a smile now. “It doesn’t matter. I won’t stay locked up for long. I am connected to a lot of very powerful, dangerous people. They’ll break me out as soon as they need something only I can provide.”

“But how can they trust you?” Parker asked, sweetly. “I mean, you sold the Ram’s Horn twice and then pretended it was stolen. You wanted to keep everything, didn’t you?”

“Not very good business practice,” Eliot said. He was getting into the gloating now.

Finally, Moreau’s smile vanished. “I—I never accepted any money. And the Ram’s Horn is still in my vault.”

“You don’t sound too sure about that, Damien,” Eliot said.

“You accepted wire transfers from the Russians and the North Koreans half an hour ago,” Parker said. “Or rather, Hardison did, on your behalf. Thanks for the money, by the way. And I stole your bomb.”

“That vault reads emotional signatures. It’s flawless technology. It won’t let anyone in who isn’t me.” Moreau’s voice had a note of hysteria that was music to Parker’s ears.

Eliot was looking uncomfortable again. Time to wrap it up.

“I don’t have an emotional signature,” Parker said shortly. “Your empath tech doesn’t work on me. And Eliot was with you long enough to download the passcode and the retinal scans. But no one else knows that. All they know is that your vault doesn’t let anyone in who isn’t you. So I wouldn’t count on your friends taking care of you. Unless, you know, it’s to _take care of you_.”

Moreau looked at them, speechless.

“You don’t take down Damien Moreau,” Eliot said, the strain back in his voice. “You get other people to do it for you.”

Nate switched on his comm. “Parker, they’re seconds away.”

“The Bureau’s coming,” Parker told Eliot. “We’ve got to go.”

Eliot was looking more and more uncertain. Moreau’s face was painfully concentrated, and Parker could only assume he was pushing like crazy.

“Don’t freak out this time,” she told Eliot.

She jabbed her taser into Moreau’s stomach.

Eliot flinched forward, but this time he stopped himself long enough for her to knock Moreau unconscious.

Sirens wailed in the hotel parking lot. The Bureau was here, with everything needed to contain a psychic as powerful as Moreau. They were really the only ones who could.

“Come on,” she said, slipping past Eliot without touching him.

He didn’t move.

“Eliot!”

He shook himself, then turned his back on Moreau and followed her out of the bedroom.

Heavy, booted feet were pounding down the hallway. Eliot gave her look. “Got an escape route?”

Parker scoffed. “I’ve got three.”

 

 

 

About halfway through the drive home, Eliot made a hurt noise and sunk his head in his hands. He took a deep breath and punched the dashboard a few times.

“Don’t break the car!”

“Just drive,” Eliot snarled.

He punched the dashboard so hard that the plastic broke. The sharp edges sliced his hand. He didn’t seem to care.

Parker pushed the gas pedal all the way to the floor.

By the time Parker screeched to a halt outside the apartment, Eliot had his hands clamped to his head. His breathing was scarily controlled and steady, the way people made it when they were in pain. Parker ran around to the passenger side and pulled Eliot out, dragging him up the stairs and into their apartment.

“Hardison!” she shouted, using her powers to slam the door open. “Hardison!”

He was there, of course. Hardison was always there when she needed him.

“What’s wrong?” Hardison hovered close as they stumbled inside. He reached out to help, then checked the movement and stayed back.

Eliot pulled away from Parker and practically shoved himself into Hardison’s hands. “Get him out of my head,” he demanded, voice shaking. He grabbed Hardison’s hands and put them on either side of his face in a way that was Always Bad.  “Get. Him. Out.”

Hardison pulled his hands away gently and dropped them down to Eliot’s arms instead, right where the sleeves of his t-shirt ended. Hardison gripped him tightly, supporting him. “I will. I got you.”

Parker was afraid Eliot was going to fall over and take Hardison with him. She stood behind him and braced her shoulder against his back, in case he needed to lean on her.

He needed to when Hardison started doing whatever he was doing. It was fine. Parker was strong.

Hardison was talking frantically. “What I’m taking away isn’t real. I promise. I promise.”

Eliot was shivering against her. Parker recognized the coldness creeping through her as fear. She had never seen Eliot like this, less than strong. She would rather he try to choke her again.

Hardison’s voice was wobbly. “Eliot, I promise. It’s not real, just let it go. Please, man, come on, you’re alright.”

Parker said, “Breathe, Eliot.”

Eliot took a deep breath.

“That’s all of it,” Hardison said. “Everything else is yours. I know you don’t have any reason to trust me right now, but that’s the truth. And I’m so sorry, Eliot. I’m so sorry. I never—I didn’t mean to—”

Eliot looped his arm around Hardison’s waist and drew him closer. “Breathe, Hardison.”

Hardison laughed, disbelieving and hysterical. Then he took a breath.

For the first time, Parker let herself consider the possibility that they could have very easily failed. Hardison and Eliot were here, but they almost hadn’t been. The cold fear shivered down deep inside her. She yanked herself away from them, even though that wasn’t what she wanted.

Eliot was standing fine on his own now, and he grabbed Parker’s elbow before she could go far. “Your throat.”

She let him pull her close, closer than he ever had before. She tipped her head back to show him. “No bruises.”

They were all squished together in a big tangle, like an angry, complicated hug. Parker rested her head against Hardison’s, letting the warmth of it chase away her fear.

Eliot dipped his forehead to rest it against both of theirs. For a second, they all breathed the same air.

Hardison had his eyes closed. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“You did exactly what I asked you to do,” Eliot said. “We’re good.”

“No. We’re not.”

“Hardison…”

“Your hand is bleeding.”

Eliot had obviously forgotten. “Right.”

Hardison stepped back and scurried to the bathroom. “Nate has a first aid kit in here somewhere.”

Eliot moved away from Parker too. “I don’t need that.”

“Sit at the table,” she said, partly to see if the orders still worked.

Eliot sat, only this time he looked like he knew exactly what she was doing. He must have liked it, though, because he didn’t complain.

Hardison came back with bandages, a washcloth, and a tube of goop.

“Goop first, then gauze,” Parker said. She knew how it worked because Hardison had done it for her once after a job slipped sideways.

“It’ll heal on its own,” Eliot muttered.

Hardison paused, the supplies clutched in his hands. “Do you not want me to do this?”

Silently, Eliot offered his bloody hand to him.

Hardison could have sat at the table, but he didn’t. Instead, he dropped to his knees in front of Eliot.

The look he gave Eliot reminded Parker of what she’d known back at the train tracks. Hardison had been hurt too.

The kneeling was a _thing_. 

Eliot sucked in a breath. “Hardison, I told you, we’re fine.”

Hardison lined up his supplies on the floor and didn’t say anything.

Parker liked the floor anyway, so she joined Hardison, sitting cross-legged beside him. She remembered her mistake from last time and didn’t try to touch Eliot, even though his bare feet were right there.

She left that to Hardison, as he cleaned off the blood with the wet washcloth he’d brought. Parker remembered how gently he had done it for her, and she was surprised to see Eliot’s hand trembling. Hardison couldn’t be hurting him.

Hardison smoothed some of the goop over the long, painful gashes and then over each tiny nick. He turned Eliot’s hand over and brushed his palm, even though there were no cuts there.

Parker gave him the gauze when he needed it. Hardison was good at wrapping up cuts, and soon he was finished. He stayed kneeling, staring at Eliot’s hand.

“Hey,” Eliot said, ducking to try to catch his eye. “Hardison. It’ll heal.”

Hardison shook his head.

“Listen to him,” Parker reminded, prodding Hardison with her shoe. “Eliot’s smart. He knows things.”

“You heard our mastermind,” Eliot said.

Hardison said, “The two of us shouldn’t do readings for a while.”

Eliot hesitated, then tapped Hardison’s hand with his bandaged one. “Okay. But not forever.”

 

 

* * * *

 

Of course, the con wasn’t quite finished. Nate and Sophie still had their card to play. So the three of them turned on the TV, watching for it.

While they waited, Hardison toasted some poptarts, just to have something to do in a different room. He’d put the last scone on a plate and offered it to Eliot, who took it with a small smile.

How could he smile at Hardison?

Maybe it was because Hardison taken every bit of Moreau out of Eliot’s head. Eliot’s emotions actually felt lighter than they had in a while.

Hardison felt sick when he thought about what might have happened with Moreau after he left. Eliot—amazingly, miraculously—claimed not to hate him. But Hardison couldn’t get the picture out of his head of the door closing on Eliot’s stricken face. Of Eliot pinned up against the wall.

Eliot had picked the armchair instead of the couch with him and Parker. Maybe because he secretly hated Hardison.

“It’s starting!” Parker said, kicking him. She’d taken Eliot’s words at face value and seemed to be bouncing back. In Parker’s world, at least, they were all okay.

The _Breaking News_ headline flashed across the screen. A very serious news anchor in a red dress said, “We have just received word that Victor Dubenich, head of the Bureau of Psychic Affairs, has been accused of embezzling government funds during his time as director.  Congressman Roberts of Michigan is leading the campaign to press charges.”

Parker was very tense beside him.

“Due to the overwhelming evidence that is currently being brought to light, the government has asked for Dubenich’s resignation, effective immediately. Detective Patrick Bonanno of the psychic crimes task force is slotted to take over the position.”

Hardison turned off the television. Parker’s face was bright and fierce. She was sitting very straight.

Eliot nodded to her. “That’s for you.”

“And Moreau was for you,” she said.

For the first time, Eliot’s mind didn’t go dark at that name. Instead, Hardison could feel delicate strands of relief tentatively reaching towards him. “I can’t believe we pulled it off.”

“But we did,” Parker said. “Now we need to find someone to take down for Hardison.” She poked him in the side. “Who do you want us to send to prison?”

Hardison wasn’t really in the mood to play around.

“There has to be someone you want imprisoned,” Parker said, reasonably.

“Come on, man,” Eliot said from his far-away armchair. “Isn’t there some geek who butchered one of your little geek stories?”

“Guys,” Hardison said. “I can’t right now, okay?”

“Okay,” Parker said, quietly.

Eliot shook his head at him. “I’m telling you—”

Hardison couldn’t hear Eliot say things were fine one more time. He just couldn’t. He buried his face in his hands.

Eliot stopped. He sighed. “We should get out of Boston.”

“We’ve got a bunch of psychic kids to visit,” Parker said.

“Good,” Eliot said. “Let’s do that.”

 

 

 

 

Sophie and Nate stopped by, looking very pleased with themselves.

Sophie went over to Parker immediately and sat on the arm of the couch next to her. “Did you see?” she asked.

Parker flung her arms around Sophie’s waist and hugged her tight.

Sophie stroked Parker’s hair. “You know, we didn’t even need to make up that embezzlement scandal. Dubenich really was siphoning money. And Bonanno is a good man. He’ll make things better.”

Parker sniffed and pulled back. “Well,” she said. “He’d better.”

Nate was pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Hardison, what did you do with the bomb?”

“Dismantled it,” Hardison said.

Nate sipped his coffee. “No, I know that. I meant, what did you do with the pieces?”

Hardison was too upset to make a huge production out of fighting Nate. Usually he liked to make the man work for it, but now he just said, “They’re under my bed upstairs.”

 “Thank you.” Nate vanished up the metal staircase.

“Why does he need those?” Parker asked Sophie.

“You know, I’ve found it’s better not to ask.” Sophie sounded fond. “What are you three going to do next? You know Nate and I always have work for you.”

Hardison and Eliot looked at Parker.

“We’ve got our own stuff to do,” Parker said slowly. “But maybe every once and awhile, working together would be fun.”

“We made a good team,” Sophie said.   

Nate came down with Hardison’s suitcase of bomb parts. “Think about our offer.”

Sophie patted Parker’s shoulder and bent down to hug Hardison. Somehow, a sitting hug wasn’t awkward when Sophie did it.

“You’re alright,” she whispered in his ear. “He forgives you.”

Hardison wasn’t sure if that made it better. He hugged her back, tightly.

Sophie straightened up and pointed at Eliot. “You,” she said. “Keep them safe.”

“Parker can stop bullets,” Eliot said, cranky now that other people were talking to him. “I think we’ll be okay.”

“You know what I mean.”

Eliot crossed his arms. “Maybe.”

“Goodness. Parker, Hardison, have fun with that one.” For the life of him, Hardison couldn’t tell if Sophie was being sarcastic or not.

“By the way,” Nate said. “I want you out of my apartment by the end of the week.”

“Yep, absolutely. No problem,” Hardison said.

Nate hoisted the suitcase. “Good work today,” he said, and walked out the door.

Sophie sighed. “Always with the dramatic exits. Bye, everyone. Parker, you and I will chat soon.”

“Bye,” Parker said, giving her a wave.

“I like Sophie,” she said, after the door had closed.

“Not bad for a telepath,” Eliot said grudgingly.

Hardison felt fidgety now that everything was over for real.

Maybe he should go out and buy Eliot more kitchen supplies.

Eliot stood. “I’m making dinner,” he said.

Was that a good sign or a bad sign?

On his way to the kitchen, Eliot paused behind the couch. He rapped Hardison on the head with his non-injured hand.

“Stop,” he commanded.

“But—”

“Hardison,” Eliot said, his voice sinking to that dangerous register. “Let me tell you how this is going to play out. I’m going to make dinner. You and Parker are going to fight about what movie to watch, and no matter what you choose, it will be terrible. Tomorrow, we’ll visit some kid who needs our help. You will stop freaking out. Got it?”

Hardison knew it wasn’t going to be that simple for him. But he was too exhausted to fight about it right now. “I’ll do my best.”

Parker was watching them like she was puzzling something out. “We’re not really a team, are we?”

Eliot drew his hand back quickly.

“Parker, of course we are,” Hardison said.

“Sophie said the five of us made an awesome team,” Parker said. “But she and Nate both left, and I was okay with it. It wouldn’t be okay if you or Eliot left.”

“I’m not going to leave,” Hardison said. He nudged her with his knee. “You know that.”

Eliot glared at them both. “If I leave, you idiots would just get yourselves killed.”

Parker beamed. “See? More than a team.”

“Oh please,” Eliot muttered. He turned away and headed into the kitchen.

Parker jumped up and followed him. “What are you making? Can I help?”

“Last time you helped, you burned the pasta.”

“You didn’t say to put water in the pan first!”

Hardison felt Eliot’s affection and peace drifting around him in easy, soothing swirls. Not a reading, just the usual taste of emotion that Hardison got around him. Surprisingly, there was a tiny drop of happiness in the mix that didn’t quite fit with the rest. It felt like molten gold. Not Eliot’s.

Parker’s.

 

 

* * * *

 

Eliot didn’t have much to pack. He’d only brought a duffle bag of things with him from Portland, and he hadn’t had time to accumulate anything. Well, except for Hardison’s ridiculous pile of kitchen gadgets. He wasn’t about to lug that stuff across the country with him, so he left it in the kitchen as an apology present for Nate.

He did take the little saltshaker. It fit nicely into his pocket.

Hardison was still subdued this morning. He was staring at the pile of tech in front of him without really seeing it.

Eliot did one last sweep. He found one of Hardison’s shirts in the bathroom and the diamond earrings Sophie had been wearing yesterday on the kitchen counter.

Eliot tossed the earrings to Parker. “Really?”

She caught them, unrepentant. “I told you. My hands just do it.”

Last night, they’d watched the footage of Moreau being taken into Bureau custody. Without being asked, Hardison brought up the specs of the containment facility, down to the exact cell where Morea was being held. They’d gone over the blueprints together, looking for weak points.

They hadn’t found any.

If even Parker couldn’t think of a way to escape, Eliot figured it was pretty safe.

“Randy Trent’s dad looks like a bigger jerk than Molly’s,” Parker said. She was leaning against the wall, re-reading Hardison’s info on his phone. Her suitcase was at her feet, ready to go.

“We’ll sort him out,” Eliot told her.

“I know.”

Hardison was still staring, not packing.

Eliot threw the shirt in Hardison’s face. “Pick something. You falling asleep over there?”

“We didn’t all get as much rest as you, sleeping beauty.” He wrapped the shirt around one of his laptops and shoved it in a huge bag. Getting Hardison over this was going to take some work, Eliot could see.

Eliot hadn’t expected to sleep last night but he had, drifting off on the couch while Parker and Hardison rustled around him.

When he’d woken up, he hadn’t expected to feel happy. But he was.

Moreau was gone.

(Eliot hadn’t even had to kill him to make it happen.)

Parker caught his eye in a mutual Hardison-exasperation moment. It made Eliot want to smile, and so he did, because there was no reason not to.

“Hardison, just finish already.” Eliot tried make his face threatening, but he didn’t know how successful he was, because Hardison didn’t look remotely concerned.

“I’m done, I’m done. Look. There. Packed.”

Parker said, “You can’t zip that bag shut.”

“ _Woman_.”

“You have to zip it shut, Hardison. That’s the point of bags with zippers.”

“Let it go, Parker,” Eliot said.

She picked up her own bag. “Don’t blame me when people laugh at you because it isn’t zipped.”

Hardison followed her out the door. “The only person who’s laughing is you.”

Eliot waited behind, in the empty apartment, because he wanted them to say it. He wanted to hear his new marching orders out loud so he could hook them into himself, so deep they could never be ripped out.

“Eliot, let’s go!” Parker shouted from the hallway.

“Come on!” Hardison called.

Eliot slung his bag over his shoulder and followed them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's done! Thanks for reading, all. 
> 
> There's a sequel coming that's currently 2/3 finished. To fix the characters I broke. 
> 
> (After breaking them more.)
> 
> (Sorry.)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Hotel Heart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7596427) by [Poetry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poetry/pseuds/Poetry)




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